Short Stories, Writing

Conversations over hummus

 I know for certain I will never win the Grand National, and I don’t know why, but it is a certainty I feel in my bones. Money will not come my way by chance, there will be graft involved, and punishment and sacrifice and pain and trips to Asda and Aldi, and coveting my neighbours shoes, ass and collection of blazers. Time is relative because a sleepless night stretches on forever, the power you can exert at 2am when you feel as though you’re the only one left alive. Maybe you could be a vigilante? Email the person you are shouting at in your head and tell them how you really feel, how you always felt. The best plans are made between 4am and 6am. The seconds between your hand leaving another’s for a while, a long while, that is a snap. It’s a replay rather then an experience and you can stretch it out over and over again. Exercise. Sometimes it never ends. I can’t listen to music in the office, so I get earworms that repeat the same parts of a song over and over again in my head, because my brain realises I must supply some noise to supplement repetitive tasks. The things you find attractive have no correlating features, one minute its sideburns, the next it’s long sleeve t-shirts pushed up to the elbows. Once it was Hawaiian shirts. Spoiler’s collection. Lets make the worlds biggest spoilers collection. But what do you do now? Oh, I’m trying to write the great American novel. Oh hahaha, but seriously what are you doing with your life. I am trying to work out how to do what I want to do and I am trying to not eat everything. My goal in life is to buy a bar of chocolate and be able to consume it one piece at a time, one piece a day, without eating it all at once in a cascade of failure. Then I will know I am truly happy and satisfied. The littlest rituals turn into highlights of the day, and then back into nothing when I am just fine. I will be able to have chocolate in my house without waking up at 6am thinking about it. Without eating it before I shower. When I don’t even want it. That’s what I do now; I work on being able to have chocolate in my house. I want to have children and give them bearable names and then I will finally understand why my mother sacrificed so much, that’s what I am going to do. I am going to make a connection with every small creature I see, anthropomorphise him or her so they all like me. But only me. The fulfilment of dreams, is it only reserved for those with a lack of self-awareness and a deep pocket? How do you know how much you have achieved unless other people compare themselves to you? They should find themselves lacking. Always lacking. If you don’t share a bed for a day, the body snaps back to single sleeping, and then when you come back I can’t sleep. But why is it so disgusting to drink a diet coke before 10am?

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