All night I’ve been wondering why I’m sad. Now I think I know.
My usual approach is to run through the list of things that might provoke a reaction and wait until something lights up. So I ran through a few things, you know, bereavement, dead cat, got dumped, friends hate me really, wasting my life on wastes of space and none of it, none of it touched a nerve. Not even the cat, I know, right?
What I realised, eventually, was that I’ve been looking around at the decaying state of my humble abode and have come to the conclusion that I can’t cope alone. I don’t know what makes that so pertinent now, maybe it’s the bindweed growing under the back door and invading the kitchen. Or the dust on the front windows. Or the cob webs – it is very much in spider season.
Whatever the confluence of circumstance, it has brought me to an understanding. The only reason why I think I should cope alone, why I fight against anything that might be considered de-ferralising social contact, is that I was told that’s what I should be – alone. Of all the things that anyone has said to me, that must have been one of the worst because I’ve wasted a considerable proportion of time since, proving to no one in particular that I can be alone and be good at it. But what an unnatural state of affairs. Who really wants that?
I want bees. Bees at the bottom of the vineyard. And a franchise of the coffee empire.
I’d also quite like to sleep…
But some things are denied those who belong neither here nor there.