Cryathlete

This is my third day playing truant from work, I’m too old to be doing this still, constantly finding trapdoors out of my life. I’m house-sitting for my friend while she camps on a freezing Cornish beach with her boyfriend. She’s an angel who offered it to me as a ‘change of scene’. I love killing off ambitions and alienating powerful people and trying to find a way to make my life a big romantic defiance. My flatmate’s antidote to me saying sentences like that is to shake his head at me and say, ‘I think you’ve watched too many French films.’ There’s forever smears of butter on the crockery in our flat because we’re always eating too much toast and refusing to participate. I’m trying to tie my hair up and plot a better way of living, but so far all I have on my list is 1) Move somewhere where the days are slow enough for you to need kitchenware such as a big jug. I met someone who spent their summer working in a garden and everything they said was so beautifully understated, more like sipping than a sentence. I’ve been taking love poems like pills all morning; I’m determined about absolutely nothing except a steadfast will to find pleasure despite a poverty of scene, eat desserts, and destroy all my lists.