Reflections

I did notice that I was better, so very better, the tablets made me sleep and in these reflections I noticed also that I could be interrupted in the shower without dragging my nails down my arms, and could be repeatedly disappointed without sickness or the desire to lawnmower faces. Instead I would be content with moving the small photo frame on my desk every few minutes to sit level with my chest, and colouring the gaps in the varnish on my nails with a magic marker pen, the label always turned towards me.

I barely notice the way in which my cup of tea has been placed leisurely upon the placemat, belligerently sitting slightly to the left, teetering upon the edge of complete destruction. I do not notice that the cup touches the table, great swathes of fake leather spreading in the opposite direction, calling desperately to be used, to be sat upon, to be warmed, to brace the porcelain cup in the natural way of the placemat. Nor do I notice that my computer screen does not face directly towards me, but instead smirks towards the wall. It finds solace in the papery glory of the poster which sits upon the wall’s face, advising that many microwave pizzas can be made from the energy wasted in leaving a microwave on, the things of obviousness, should I have noticed.

I also do not notice that I have not made a list in several months, nor that my file tray has been removed to fill the gaps where file trays may be more necessary. I do not notice that my papers do not sit together as friends, but rather several attempt to escape, likely to go to the fair, where candyfloss and hook-a-duck are more appealing than disorganised collections of desk material. Moreover I do not notice that my receipts are held together by a paperclip whose metallic curvature bends outside the generally accepted limits of paperclip behaviour; his was an obscure bend, and one that I did not notice.

The Nature of the Obsessive Personality

‘The ones that stick are the ones that stay’, you had said, the shadows combing through your hair at the height of midnight. How delightfully mediocre, I had thought, though it was true, of course. I held your hand and looked into your eyes, imagining our lives together, sipping tea and making love on a Wednesday. Continue reading “The Nature of the Obsessive Personality”

The Hospital

The door was locked and I’d had my nose pressed firmly against the window pane for approximately five minutes before realising that there was a sign on the other side. I read the words backwards through the glass; an experiment for the mentally distorted… the words told me to ring the bell, ring the bell and embrace melancholy. I wouldn’t keep her waiting.

The woman at the desk wore a yellow shirt and a happy smile, contrasting dangerously against the glum blue hue of the walls. I’d have torn out her throat, but blood doesn’t soak well into the leaves of potted plastic plants. Instead I took my seat and waited to be called. Continue reading “The Hospital”