I had to drive through town, from my office, in the dark last night. I didn't sleep the night before knowing I had to do this. Of course I had to organise a writer's meeting before this all happened last week, and therefore stay late and pretend I'm not ADD and weird when I followed everyone out onto the street and stuck to them like glue. (“That editor...she's kinda....jittery. Crack I reckon. She's probably running a crystal meth factory at her house.”)
I was simply uncomfortably energetic.
Lion followed me until Killarney, bless his ten toes. He chaperoned me.
And all while driving and jumping pavements and trying to run over stray cretins in the road, I was thinking, “It's OK. I'll get home and have an monumental bath.”
A bath sorts out everything. At least for 20 minutes. It's like being on ecstasy, except you sleep afterwards and house music still sounds the same.
I will have a bath.
Driving like a fucking mental patient....
It's cool, it's cool...
Oh look at that, jumped another robot, but am now passing the intersection of Jeppe and Rissik, I wonder whether the fuckers who are using my brand new cellphone are watching me speed past in a rocketing frenzy.
It's cool...look at me...I'm alive and wow, I've never felt so alive....
I swing precariously around a corner on two wheels. Ludwig, my car, is now a....B Grade Sports Vehicle.
I'll gooi in the remainder of my bath crystals, pour myself a wonderful glass of leftover Breakfast Punch...
Shit. The lights are red on Empire. Drop down from 100 km/h to 20 km/h and crawl to the lights...they change, oh thank heavens, I roar up to 100km/h again....I think I have at least 6 speeding tickets this week already....
I'll lie in the warm, soothing, slightly erotic, warm tub... and literally feel my troubles fade away.....
Keys in door, wild frenzy...my bath is literally within 10 metres dashing distance. I'm hyperventilating in excitement, I could just wee in my pants...
To find:
A pile, a monumentally large and grotesque pile, truckload pile, (are you getting the picture here?) of dishes in the sink, on the counter, everythefuckwhere.
No. Why. No. Please. No.
An unflushed toilet.
Beautiful. (In that “war is beautiful” kind of way)
That creepy and familiarly uncanny feeling that my evening was not to pan out as I previously envisioned. Is this some kind of cosmic gag? I know my flatmate was home all day, but seriously, why is everything a-shambles?
What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On Here.
Oh I see. The water is mysteriously missing.
Oh get out of town. Seriously. Am I in a vomitorium?
You know, forfucksakes. That blows. It blows so badly, I sulked and watched Seinfeld the rest of the evening in a seething disposition.
Then a cat just strolls in. Just like that. I jump out of my skin, and find that the back gate has been left open. Open to the world, open to rapists, open to people who want to steal my stuff, open to stalkers, open to crazy psychopaths, open to Jehovah's Witnesses. My old computer is lying next to the gate – the gate has been left unlocked and open to the world. Carelessly just left, and it's not the first time either.
That is hugely irritating not to mention timely.
Oh and did I mention I've picked up a horrible piles problem. *
* kidding, kidding, let's not tempt fate here.
