Spending time with a cough that's becoming a burning torture.
How there's nothing like a sounding like a Spandau every five minutes to magnify every little hicup and problem until all I want is for everything and everyone just to cease to be, now.
Two or three days spent in dressing gown and under duvet, eyes like hot marbles that ache, too tired to be tired but no strength to stand up. When I do, bent like an old man. how has this happened since Friday? What have I done to bring this unrelenting punishment down upon myself? Is it as I've suspected, the ultimate irony?Me, always imagining what The World would be like after the next great plague being its first victim. The third night of it, the most intense dream of late. Sheets of paper, yellowed and covered in diagrams, faint pencil showing me things I don't understand but I somehow know. The constant sensation that each time I understand one way of it it's all erased and I'm shown another way. All through the night my feet won't stay still and I believe I can't sleep but I am sleeping. It ends, eventually, in dim light and with the best collection of words and phrases in my head for a while. Is this the beginning of the transformation? Am I about to become the fluid and constant writer of thoughts I secretly crave to be? No. It fades back to whence it came and I am left with the dull ache and rattle of before. It feels as though this will continue for ever. The concept of eternal convalescence..
Ahh, but no. Soon I'm buckling under that inbuilt insistence to be a good drone and to return to work because I feel a little better. I cough and wheeze my way through the remainder of the week, not fully able to rid myself of the feeling that being slumped on a sette coughing until I taste metal isn't somehow far more enjoyable than most of this. Time to pull myself up or slide even further into detachment. Even the new tidier haircut won't hide that sort of slide for long.
Before I know where I am, I'm sitting in front of someone and we're talking about things to which I am ambivalent. The rules and how things should look. I nod, I discuss, I agree, I do really but also I want to be eleswhere and not involved. The concerning and disconserting feelings that this will not go away but not being bothered at the same time because this simply doesn't matter. Not in the big sense. I'm getting closer to avoidance. As happens in these situations, I find myself contemplating the usual two scenarios that pop in to my head. I wonder what would happen if I were to launch across the desk and start to pummel my unsuspecting opposite? Just keep hitting him until he stopped talking, throw down a rain of blows that knocked these foolish and rigid words he's speaking from his mouth so as to never hear them again. Unleash the howl that even now grows inside me. Throttle him.
Or just swear at him in the foulest of ways. Shout out loudly what I really think of him and his ideas both. End my verbal assult with a gob of spit for good measure and stop this nonsense dead so that it will never trouble me again.
Of course these will never happen, I am not about to do this, he is only doing a job he likes and the things he talks of are not going to go away what ever I do but will remain, from now on.
Launching across a desk.
I am still wondering though .
How there's nothing like a sounding like a Spandau every five minutes to magnify every little hicup and problem until all I want is for everything and everyone just to cease to be, now.
Two or three days spent in dressing gown and under duvet, eyes like hot marbles that ache, too tired to be tired but no strength to stand up. When I do, bent like an old man. how has this happened since Friday? What have I done to bring this unrelenting punishment down upon myself? Is it as I've suspected, the ultimate irony?Me, always imagining what The World would be like after the next great plague being its first victim. The third night of it, the most intense dream of late. Sheets of paper, yellowed and covered in diagrams, faint pencil showing me things I don't understand but I somehow know. The constant sensation that each time I understand one way of it it's all erased and I'm shown another way. All through the night my feet won't stay still and I believe I can't sleep but I am sleeping. It ends, eventually, in dim light and with the best collection of words and phrases in my head for a while. Is this the beginning of the transformation? Am I about to become the fluid and constant writer of thoughts I secretly crave to be? No. It fades back to whence it came and I am left with the dull ache and rattle of before. It feels as though this will continue for ever. The concept of eternal convalescence..
Ahh, but no. Soon I'm buckling under that inbuilt insistence to be a good drone and to return to work because I feel a little better. I cough and wheeze my way through the remainder of the week, not fully able to rid myself of the feeling that being slumped on a sette coughing until I taste metal isn't somehow far more enjoyable than most of this. Time to pull myself up or slide even further into detachment. Even the new tidier haircut won't hide that sort of slide for long.
Before I know where I am, I'm sitting in front of someone and we're talking about things to which I am ambivalent. The rules and how things should look. I nod, I discuss, I agree, I do really but also I want to be eleswhere and not involved. The concerning and disconserting feelings that this will not go away but not being bothered at the same time because this simply doesn't matter. Not in the big sense. I'm getting closer to avoidance. As happens in these situations, I find myself contemplating the usual two scenarios that pop in to my head. I wonder what would happen if I were to launch across the desk and start to pummel my unsuspecting opposite? Just keep hitting him until he stopped talking, throw down a rain of blows that knocked these foolish and rigid words he's speaking from his mouth so as to never hear them again. Unleash the howl that even now grows inside me. Throttle him.
Or just swear at him in the foulest of ways. Shout out loudly what I really think of him and his ideas both. End my verbal assult with a gob of spit for good measure and stop this nonsense dead so that it will never trouble me again.
Of course these will never happen, I am not about to do this, he is only doing a job he likes and the things he talks of are not going to go away what ever I do but will remain, from now on.
Launching across a desk.
I am still wondering though .
You don't really want this job do you...
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