Tuesday, November 07, 2006

nothing new, seriously?

I stood waiting in line for the post office to open. It was an imaginary, courtesy line. Nobody said 'line up', there wasn't signs or anything, the shutters were still closed anyway. Quick glance at my watch, 10 minutes to 10. Timeliness. I hate it when I'm early sometimes. But 10 minutes or so later the shutters begin to open, and the people ahead of me arelike rabbits, ears upright, gazing forward in alarm, in excitement.

I have been coming here once too often. Some of the people are regulars. Mind you this isn't a bar, this is a post office. How can someone be a regular, I find it quite odd. But then it occured to me that someone else might think of me in the same fashion. Scruffy looking lad with the yellow padded envelopes, two or three at a time all the time. That seemed to be my new charity work, selling books on ebay, and I have no choice but to ship it out manually as and when it happens.

Don't ask me what I've been doing, and I won't bore you with the details. That's what I think. I've been drinking a lot less now. Either that or I haven't gotten drunk in a long time so it feels like I'm drinking less. I'm still cooking every now and then, drawing, working, and my mind wanders off quite often: I hope it isn't the side effect of the drinking.

If you ask me to picture myself in a nice peaceful place, I would tell you that its in a nice, quiet Irish pub with a pint of Guinness at happy hour. Is that wrong? I don't want to travel, I don't want to be anywhere. More often than not you'd find me there. I'm shelled by dozens of questions and situations that require some sort of solution every week, and I'm there to provide answers, sometimes along with some level of sacrifice. Eventually that wears you out, you know? That you don't want to do anything, or go anywhere.

Every time I have things in my head I want to write it down but I just never do. Things I want to blog, but I end up sorting these thoughts in my head as I wait in line, waiting for my number to be called at the post office, checking every now and then to see if I remembered my number correctly even though it is only 4 digits but after thinking about a dozen other things you really aren't sure if its the 4 digits that you've set out to remember.

'1010, Counter 4.'

And then it's my turn.