I currently live in a tiny little cave, located in an overpopulated inner-city suburb. I moved there about six months ago and those that know this always ask two things; How’s the noise? (You get used to it) and Are you okay living by yourself?
Living by myself is great.
- I sing, loudly, and without abandon, quite often.
- On those *rare* occasions where I am hungover, my digestive pyrotechnics are wonderfully private.
- I can watch Star Trek: the Next Generation without anyone making fun of me, or making fun of Picard.
- My fridge is a place of cool bliss, not a place where food goes to die.
- I haven’t once found anything disgusting in the bathroom that wasn’t mine.
- I neglect pants.
(Yes the photo above includes Pants, I apologise)
This story starts with a nightmare that kept me awake until four in the morning, being awake till stupid O’Clock (Pepi’sterm, not mine) meant that I woke up late for work. Groggy, I caught the train in and alighted at Parliament station. The train ride had been spent in the manner that almost all of my train rides are, that is; eye shut, brain semi-conscious and ears full of Boards of Canada (or something of similar calmness, all very zen). So you would be forgiven in thinking that I was used to making my way out of the station half asleep without incident. However, on this day you would be wrong.
As I had been running late, the peak hour crush of people had diminished slightly and I had the leisure of ascending the giant escalators at a slightly slower pace than most mornings. So I was completely taken by surprise when my toes caught on the metal edge of the step and I landed solidly, my chins and elbows cheese-grater-ing themselves against the metal steps. This surprise was further extended when the suit behind me proceeded to run into my sprawling legs.
A small tangent – this rear end collision caused me to immediately quote the driving rules I’ve been learning in my head – “Leave a two second gap!!”.
I hauled my ass up using the rail and dragged my bruised limbs out of the now cussing suit’s way. Leaning on the rail for the rest of the ride up the escalator I pondered why some people are such assholes and why, when I was already feeling fairly crappy, life had to go arrange it so I had the scope to feel worse.
The size of the storm cloud above me was decent if not dangerous, when while waiting for the tram I ran into an old friend who had been going to call me but didn’t, the night before. It turned out he was looking for a new job and wanted all the goss on my current employer. I did my best to be the picture of social politeness but varying limbs hurt to varing degrees and I think my big toe was bleeding so I wanted nothing more than to morph into the tram seat.
Once finally at work, still not quite compos mentis, I made several small mistakes that caused the thundercloud above me to strike me with lightening several times.
Cut to lunch time, we had just eaten, and me and another designer at work (the lovely Ash) duck into Kliens Perfumery to sniff and fondle the many varied and pleasant things they have for sale. I had done this a few times in the past few months and had my eye on a candle that smelt like I imagined living in a resort on a tropical island in a favorable afterlife to smell. However it had a price tag that would make a seasoned candle buyer blush. So every time I had visited previously I had longingly sniffed it and set it back in the shelf.
Not that day though. I took the candle, bought it, then used to (figuratively) punch my little thundercloud in its grumpy chin.
So tonight? Im tucked up in bed with my cat, and we’re being serenaded by the scent of island-resort-in-a-favorable-afterlife and the lovely glow of the lighting that resembles woodland critters. And Im feeling pretty pleased with myself.