Wrish

It was 1998, Christmas there-of and I was ushered into a corner and asked if I’d like to earn some money.

“Of course!” I chimed, elated at the prospect; and with those words, the ink was dry and I was at desk – with computer, at phone – with conference and caller ID, at office – with smell of mould and decomposing cement and tattered carpet and inexplicable sink.

The month passed slowly, the jobs varied and came at the end of a single sentence command.
“Design the Christmas Card!”,  I did.
“File the action reports!”, I did.
“Make a database!”, I did.
“Go home!”, I did.

I was excited at this money earning endeavour, I did odd things like sleep in full business attire + cap, use a unisex bathroom and entirely give up thinking about what to do with the rest of my life.

And so it began, the first new.  The new that decided my path, discarded of hope for the future I began my pursuit of this life I have. The new that filled the waking hours, stalled my plans for travel, my plans for riches, my plans for excess.

This week: a new a new. Two steps closer to god, two steps further away from everything else.

Every opportunity is a choice, each has a path and you can’t travel both.

The world has been dormant for so long, years of empty normalcy with nothing but the occasional bug of interest splattering its entrails across the window of perception in the car of life. This week/month, I find myself in a butterfly swarm.

Saturday the 17th of this shall be remembered – the day my quaking hand bore life into a contract that would mark my financial future. Smear or highlight? yet to be determined. It is a place to put my stuff, George Carlin would be proud.

Sunday the 18th of this shall be remembered – the day we know for certain each other knew it all along. Sitting amongst the quiet, startled when they fall – those petals from the tree of eternal cliché.

My job in peril, my study wanes, some projects fail and others prosper, the house is in, the fun is out, so much to plan, so little time, awake at night, sick to hell – gone 6 weeks now, all cough and splutter, its going to hurt, tears make me stutter.

The year is coming to a close. Another calendar fades into uselessness. Stock in Garners Printing Works falls by 2 points. Fat people are reinvigorated with hope and begin the hapless journey through several days of feeble dieting, followed immediately by the grim realisation of their true destiny; to have their self esteem crushed under their own corpulent mass.

To many, this new year represents new opportunity, a clean slate and a chance to score a discrete kiss with a complete stranger. Personally, I like my slate dirty and most of my opportunities are of the missed variety, but by lucifer’s bowel movements, whoever you are, that was a great snog.

What a start to the new one.