Wednesday, 20 December 2017
There is little to report today. I am listening to the new Eminem album, Revival. It’s OK.
I am it pain, but it’s OK.
I saw a couple holding hands today, the guy just holding onto the girl’s pinky finger. I think he had three fingers in the game, although I now can’t picture exactly how they were all arranged. Perhaps this doesn’t even qualify as ‘holding hands’.
The girl had a black eye. A real shiner, the size of a grapefruit. It actually looked pretty good. She was Asian, I think in one of the watery places like Thailand or the Philippines; she had quite bronzed skin. The olive-brown and the purple all went together quite well. I mean, visually, as a colour palette, if you take away all the emotional stuff attached to skin colour and violence.
I feel bad for the offendables sometimes. They can never have a quiet moment of appreciation for the aesthetics of a nice shiner because their ape-like emotions make their brain so hot it overheats and has to shut down some cores. I don’t think ill of these folk, it’s a disability.
That feels like something I’ve said before.
I will have a week off for Christmas, 10 days in a row; that’s writing time. I don’t quite think I can finish a novel in that time, but I feel the need to aim for some goal. To have a second draft ready for Erica to read is a good one. She really is the gooey centre to my, um, milk chocolate life? I have no interest in hitting a word count, I think that’s old-school thinking. If it’s a 40,000 word story, that’s how many words you’re getting. In fact I think “it’s short” will be the cornerstone of my marketing campaign.
As part of this writing I am making an effort to return to writing here, once a day. Even if, like today, I will just be sending you to sleep.
At the lunch shop today a chap behind the counter felt the need to make small talk while my chicken wrap was being fetched (worry not, I made a note to stand further from the counter next time I see him lurking). He said, “So, do you ride here?”.
I looked down at the bike helmet in my hands, then back at him, then back at the helmet, then back at him. “No,” I said in my best ashamed tone, “I’m just clumsy”.
