A day out trying to be productive and then people ruin it.
Shh! I’ve escaped! I’m out, in the day time, without children. My mission is to not to talk to another person, write, drink coffee, read a magazine, eat cake and not talk to anyone else, no one, not even the person I ordered coffee from (I ordered using telepathy and hand gestures). I’m so exhausted of my own voice ranting and reasoning and failing at reasoning all day, every day, that I need to recuperate some energy and in my world talking is a leaking tap of energy, so unsociable quietness it is. Hurray! The in-laws have Edi and Ben is at school and I am hiding in the coffee shop attached to our local Tesco. It’s not my first choice of coffee shop but my closest and time is of the essence, so necessity over luxury has won. So far I haven’t been spotted by anyone I know so I can only assume that my disguise as a moody, tired, knackered cow is working. The “cow” is metaphorical, if I were actually in a cow costume I feel I would be drawing more attention than I wish to. Anyway, the point is I’m alone and no one is talking to me and it’s beautiful, I’m even managing to achieve a bit of cathartic writing too (this). Writey-writey-write-write. Yippee! Sluuuuurp. Aaaaahhhh! Coffee chugging down my neck, the carrot cake is going to get it next. Massive chomp coming up. Yuuuuuuum! Lah, dee, dah, this is great!
The problem with objects of uncertain purpose is that they occupy a very specific psychological space between the useful and the useless. You cannot discard them because they might — might — be the one thing standing between you and a domestic catastrophe you haven't imagined yet. What if the boiler makes a noise and this is the thing that fixes it? What if there is a screw somewhere, waiting, and this is its key?
Oooh what’s this I can see on the front an overpriced home magazine I’ve bought? A gorgeous sofa no less, it must be fate because we’re looking for a new sofa. I wonder if it’s within our budget? Probably not, but let’s look. Tum-te-tum, hhhmm, ah! Here it is. 5000. Bugger. Why can’t it be 500 like most normal people can afford? Oh well, I only bought it to look at the pictures anyway I don’t want to actually read anything, that requires using my brain. Sluuuuurp! Coffee heaven, writing heaven, cake heaven, magazine purgatory (can’t win ‘em all). Oh no! A friendly looking older lady has just caught my eye and smiled at me. Piss off! I don’t want to be smiled at, smiling leads to conversation. Look down Bea and keep writing and do not look up again. Shit, just looked up again. Why did I do that? I obviously have no control over my body or brain, I am a puppet being moved around by a dim-witted nincompoop. Perhaps I just don’t have any will power and a massive self-destruct button and the only dim-witted nincompoop is me. Hang on. Being horrible about to myself was not part of my escape plan. Start again, keep writing and don’t look up.
Damn! I’ve got crumbs all over the keyboard and the small iced carrot has landed on my space bar, I’m just going to pick it up ad'vjV'DJ sfc* ASCnandlna115 there, got it. And now to shake the crumbs off. Done. Oh, there’s a smidge of icing on some of the keys, I’ll just wipe it off AHSJBDEWLjlaSBCASJDCBXNA jlksjhdagfaskdfgsd;KVJBJzdsnva;. Done. Shit, I’ve just looked up again and she’s just smiled again. What’s wrong with me? Why is she so bloody nice? Psychic message to older friendly looking smiley nice lady who is trying to make human to human contact: ‘I vant to be alone’.
Hang on, what if I know her? Oh my God! What if I know her from the school run? It’ll be school gate suicide if I ignore her. She might be someone’s Nan. Perhaps if I keep my head down but look up at the same time I’ll be able to see her without her noticing that I’m looking at her… Nope, that didn’t work. Instead I created three extra chins for myself and a headache from pushing my eyes into my eyebrows and my eyebrows into my hairline. I must have looked like I was about to die or poo. A quick direct look is necessary. Nope, I definitely don’t know her so why is she staring at me? Hang on, did she just give me a pity smile? I’m going to ignore her. Head down again.
I have tried googling the small metal thing. This is harder than it sounds. How do you describe an object whose defining characteristic is that you don't know what it is? 'Small metal disc with hole and possibly a blade' returns results for washers, bottle openers, and something called a spanner bit, none of which it is. It sits in the drawer, unidentified, possibly smug.
Mission “escape” was not supposed to be like this. Chill Bea, chill. Enjoy the time to yourself and get some writing done, ignore the smiley people around you and write yourself into an introvert’s coma. What to write about? Don’t think too hard or it won’t come… erm… what about writing about one of my dreams to just to get the juices flowing - but not the dream about the time I gave birth to a 2 litre bottle of Coke, that’s just weird. Shit, my brain’s gone dead… breathe… write yourself free, be free, be free… breathe… free… write free… Oh God! It’s happening, I’m melting. Without the disorganised chaos that is my day to day life I can’t cope, I’m turning into a hippy without the hip, I’m just a pee, a wet yellow puddle of pee. Perhaps I should have gone to bed and slept instead of coming out. Actually, I do feel quite tired. Lean back and streeeeeeetch it out. Damn! I looked at her when I stretched and caught smiley lady’s eye just as she’s leaving, bollocks! She’s coming over. Oh noooooooo! She looks like she’s going to talk to me…
“Excuse me, I’m sorry to disturb you” “That’s ok” It’s not “But I just thought to myself that I must tell you my love that you have your top on inside out and back to front.” “Oh! Do I? Oh! Right, so I do, ha! Look at that! Ha ha ha ha ha! Thank you. Ha ha ha ha…” I’m not laughing on the inside. “That’s alright love I know I’d want to know if I left the house looking like that.” She’s pity smiling at me again wafting her hand in front of my top. I’m really not laughing anywhere about my person now. “Alright love, you have a good day then” another fucking pity smile “Bye now” Oh my god! She’s just pity-patted me on the shoulder as she’s left! “Will do, thanks for telling me. Bye” Why did I just say that? I don’t mean “thank you” I mean 'I hope someone puts rocks in your trolley bag and someone gives you a pity smile as you’re sweating and struggling pulling it along and your brown tights start to fall down.' But I’ll never say that it’s a drummed in cultural compulsion to be polite to people I don’t want to be polite to, I can’t help it. Oh God! Someone help me! I’m not only two-faced but I think I might actually be evil too. I should definitely have gone to bed instead of escaping. I am obviously not fit to be outside on my own. I can’t believe this has happened. Actually I can.