Got a card for an art exhibition. Assumed it’d come from Kate, who paints but isn’t at present, and awaited a reply to my acknowledging email.

Got corrections of my book from the editor and for some reason couldn’t get on with checking them except the morning Mears had an appointment to tell me what it proposed doing to my bathroom and kitchen. I’d forced them to make a specific appointment after staying in all day as Mears presumptuously expects and it still hadn’t come. It said it had. I said it lied without so much as a left card saying it’d been to substantiate its lie. Thus the specifically timed appointment it yet didn’t keep. The man said he’d a day off sick that day. I made no pretence to believe him. I told him to tell me when in the morning he was coming and I’d stay in until he didn’t. I’ve heard nothing further.

I hadn’t heard from John, in prison: no visiting orders. That let me get on with the corrections when I acquired the will to do them. Demanding neighbours weren’t impinging either. On Saturday though my head was clamped that I had neither energy nor will or the intelligence to do anything. I realised this when I couldn’t be bothered baiting a Xian on Facebook or doing my diary. I lost interest in all the minutiae of life, indeed I was losing the will to live. I was turning into Quentin.

Sunday I recovered enough to spend the day working and finished off the corrections Monday morning though batting them back to the editor was all I wanted to do the rest of the morning. I did start functioning again in the afternoon when I realised Dominika had been throwing a party since the Saturday before, Monday was the last day for it and it ended at ten. I scribbled down the information I needed. It was getting late. I didn’t have time to cook. I threw two bottles into the fridge. I threw off a haiku, to gain entry. I skimmed through the Standard. I decided to look up the A-Z to find out where I was going that’d take one and a half hours to reach. Her street wasn’t in the A-Z. Either I’d an out of date A-Z or I’d misread my own writing. I was stymied. I watched University Challenge instead and could tell my edge was blunted. I lost by fifteen points.

It was only on going to bed I remembered the name of the street. I looked it up. So easy to get to I almost set out though the party was over and transport stopped.

The art exhibition was also over. I recycled the card.


About johnbrucecairns

I'm a retired history teacher who's written for most of his life with a book readied for publication.
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