Today, my fiction project notebooks were sealed into an envelope and posted to the US of A. I finally finished. I thought I’d feel really excited about sending them off. I thought I’d feel something. But guess what? The earth did not move (not any more than usual anyway) and I thought – huh. All that hard work and it hasn’t made a blind bit of difference. Like all I was doing today was collecting my giro. Except, it's the 21st Century, I'm not a pensioner and I hardly ever hang out at the post office anymore. That was the only extraordinary thing about it - sending solid objects in the mail.
Maybe it was the lack of feeling where I thought there would be some, but for the rest of the day, I pretty much over-reacted to everything else.
Some teenagers congregated in the playground where Jake & I were and sat around smoking pot. They weren’t bothering anybody, weren’t even being loud or obnoxious or throwing rubbish about. But I overreacted. I felt uncomfortable and took Jake out of there as quickly as I could.
Then I got a text from the place where I take yoga classes telling me they are putting up the prices. I misunderstood everything and really overreacted. I sent an angry email to them, then a completely self-important email to my yoga teacher about how I'd rather take private lessons with her twice a month than pay the increased fees every week. All this over a £1 per class increase. Seriously.
And then, because I was bored and wanted to escape, and kept trying to escape instead of just being where I was, when I was, everything Jake did irritated and annoyed me.
It makes it all the more bizarre that the whole country / world seems to be overreacting big time to some wedding that’s happening tomorrow, while I could not give a gerbil’s infected eyeball. Well, maybe I could. I mean, if I was legally forced to give a crap about it, the way I would show my obligated appreciation would be to carefully wrap a gerbil’s infected eyeball in some tissue paper and send it to the happy couple. Of course I’d make sure the gerbil was dead first. By natural causes, due to his infection! Come on. I’m not that sick.
Actually, there was one person who seemed to have the right idea about tomorrow. The guy in the post office queue in front of me:
Guy: Can I have it for tomorrow please, from 6am.
Lady behind counter: Tomorrow? Really?
I wonder - poor guy, does he have to work? What is it? Congestion charge payment or something? Are they letting traffic into Central London tomorrow?
Lady behind counter: But you're supposed to be celebrating tomorrow, not going fishing!