Wednesday, September 29, 2004

August 31 (Tuesday): Allnighter. A second night of horribly disrupted sleep comes to an end with my alarm rudely waking me up. I stagger out of bed and my back is absolutely caning, I’m a total raspberry. I have the best intentions to get to work early today but I fail to live up to my part as the morning occurs with a drag. I hear Phoebe log on MSN and am tempted to say “hi�, wondering why she has not been in touch all weekend. In the end I decide to not tempt fate, instead I end up tempting fate.

I walk into work listening to Moyles, getting back into routine again hits me hard. As I approach Chernobyl, walking opposite is Out My League girl. She looks at me with her usual contempt and it drives me wild.

The day in the office is another real snorer. I pick up South East Brickwork and I decide it should be really called South Park Brickwork. Actually, to be honest, a lot of the accounts work has been done its just the bank that has not been maintained, so I set about reconciling the bank, trying to incorporate their records meaning I am doing it the hard way. Oh, the exciting life of the accountant.

Stevo brings his laptop in today and spends a good portion of the day adding sound effects to our movements. For example, when we leave the office and shut the door: the sliding door noise from Star Trek.

At lunchtime I buy my course books for my upcoming English AS course. Surprisingly Waterstones has all three books: the text book, the Anita Shreve novel and the Christina Rossetti poetry book. I snap them up immediately and start/begin to build up enthusiasm for the upcoming classes.

In the evening I hope fairly swiftly, in time to speak to Phoebe on MSN. She tells me she is down and that she has some skin rash/allergy at the moment. I tell her it is just “a blot on perfection� which people later tell me is/was a very cheesy thing to say but I think it is actually a really nice thing to say. Still, I think I manage to cheer her up and make her laugh, telling her that it is probably nowhere near as noticeable as it feels.

I fly home to my parents and do my bit, eat their food and watch their Sky. My trip is fleeting, it is fun.

When I get home in the evening, it is still a beautiful summers night. Outside the air is still warm and I am able to sleep the night with my window open. I hear some shouting and wonder if it is (there are) herberts outside in the Hollytree car park Upon further investigation it is a proper domestic going, hell for leather. They are having a right go at eachother but I’ll be damned if I can make out what the domestic is about, although at one point I do hear a barrage of the word “her� and something about a mobile phone. Midnight hits and it doesn’t sound like they are going to quit any time soon, I actually begin to fear it may spill out into the car park.

All in all though, it doesn’t really bother me. I stand with my arms crossed leaning out of my window trying to eavesdrop and I look out on the Colchester night sky and all the lights flickering in the distance. I love this view and I love these moments, very rarely these days do I feel so alive that at midnight I am still full of life and energy. I settle down stuff and send an email to Phoebe telling her about the domestic and how great and cosy I feel within my apartment, on my own in the best of all worlds, I think maybe this is the contentment that Miller had all his life.

Eventually the Police actually turn up outside but it is a while after voices stop slinging and things have calmed down, with the witching hour arriving.

I sit down to the beginning of the month and on the TV is Hasselhoff acting out as Nick Fury in the crap adaptation of the Marvel comic. That man fucking sucks.

np: Wu Tang Clan – M.E.T.H.O.D. Man


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