This afternoon I found myself on a train. With other people. Which sucks. As previously established, I’m not very good at trains.
Sitting directly behind me was a mother, who I’m sure was a teenager in the 90’s, and her three children. The eldest, a girl that couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven, kept singing a single line from Aqua’s Cartoon Heroes. Over and over again. Very loudly.
So. I haven’t written anything more substantial than an email in quite a while. Admittedly a number of those emails were quite profound; like when confirming my attendance at upcoming team meetings in the vein of an overwrought Hemingway. And granted, I have written a few texts that have ended up being an epic four or five “pages” long. Hell, even some of my snapchats can get pretty wordy. No mere “send nudes” from this little black duck.
One of my ex-girlfriends (serious relationship ex #4 for those keeping score at home) would complain to me incessantly. About me.
She was a highly strung individual and always needed everything single thing to be a certain way. And I, well, I am not like that at all. I am more of a “what you see is what you get and be damned what anyone else thinks” kinda guy. Perfect match right?
One of her many, many quibbles was that I would exit the car slowly. Apparently so slowly that it needed to be brought to my attention. Repeatedly.
The man is thinking about buying a silver statue of some deity that he finds physically attractive, because that’s what he’s doing. He is in a new/small shop on a busy street in a town in another country. A country he’s visited many times before and is familiar with.
He haggles over the price and walks away from the sale over a 50 cent difference of opinion. As he’s leaving he says to no one in particular that he’ll check how much money he has at the ATM.
He walks to the ATM, which to him seems oddly close to the small shop; it almost definitely wasn’t there when he went into the shop. The man doesn’t notice these things.
A few nights ago I met a girl at a bar. Wait! Before you decide that you’ve heard this story before and move on to look at cats doing amusing things, or porn, I can assure you that this tale doesn’t end in some tawdry liaison fueled by booze and happenstance. Nothing so interesting.
Rather, this innocuous meeting has made me question my place in this world. Or, alternatively, my understanding of it.