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desperanceSo having - almost as an act of will - washed out yesterday, obviously I would find it necessary today to reinsert purpose to my life.
Which purpose, its being Monday, was predicated entirely on my progressing like a relentless planet along my established path to the Lit & Phil.
I was practically on my last swallow of first coffee before I understood that - today's being a bank holiday - the Lit & Phil would not be open to me.
Um.
Even on a bank holiday, there must surely in this bright big city be somewhere else that a man may go, with a laptop and a flask of coffee...?
Trouble is, all the places I can think of that would be happy with a man and a laptop would take objection to the flask of coffee, expecting rather to sell me their own beverages at inflated prices.
Alternatively, after thirty-four years, you might think perhaps that I would have the discipline to stay at home and work instead.
But, well, there was yesterday. There still is yesterday, sitting in my head like a scratched record going round and round (the young among you won't understand that; how strange), a record of failure at that whole being-at-home thing; and there is this thing that is still comparatively new, that unreliable state where I can work at the Lit & Phil! becomes I can only work at the Lit & Phil!; and - its being a bank holiday - there is the lure of another discarded day, movies to watch, idleness to embrace.
I dunno. My indecision is a glorious thing, swelling out of nowhere, a lure and a snare. I could spend all day in indecision.
Which purpose, its being Monday, was predicated entirely on my progressing like a relentless planet along my established path to the Lit & Phil.
I was practically on my last swallow of first coffee before I understood that - today's being a bank holiday - the Lit & Phil would not be open to me.
Um.
Even on a bank holiday, there must surely in this bright big city be somewhere else that a man may go, with a laptop and a flask of coffee...?
Trouble is, all the places I can think of that would be happy with a man and a laptop would take objection to the flask of coffee, expecting rather to sell me their own beverages at inflated prices.
Alternatively, after thirty-four years, you might think perhaps that I would have the discipline to stay at home and work instead.
But, well, there was yesterday. There still is yesterday, sitting in my head like a scratched record going round and round (the young among you won't understand that; how strange), a record of failure at that whole being-at-home thing; and there is this thing that is still comparatively new, that unreliable state where I can work at the Lit & Phil! becomes I can only work at the Lit & Phil!; and - its being a bank holiday - there is the lure of another discarded day, movies to watch, idleness to embrace.
I dunno. My indecision is a glorious thing, swelling out of nowhere, a lure and a snare. I could spend all day in indecision.