swells tossed around by wave after wave
and I don't have anything felt
to say, to anyone else
will not invite you into my grief
with all the formalities of a good host
haven't tidied up in here
in as long as it takes
to tell long, long stories
I know you'd feel compelled to help
me with all this mess
I'd refuse, you'd feel awkward
would want to sit down
I'd tell you to watch where y'step
eggs shells and frayed nerves
stain the carpet
don't entertain there, often
don't speak softly here
will not invite you into my grief
with all due formality,
but I know from the outside
it's a long way around it
come in already
don't get comfy though
and for fucks sake close the door behind you.
never get enough bread
with my soup
just a little too fat
to fit into my afternoon
want to reheat the thing
I just said
could get way more stuff done
if I wasn't already busy
have a very good idea
of what will make me happy
it's whatever is over there
just out of reach
in another colour
yeah like the one they have
I'm pretty satisfied
with my level of dissatisfaction
at the moment
The PC repair man thanked me for not crying in front of him, because apparently he has that happen a lot.
See, calling it a first world problem wouldn't have helped, but telling me about a mother whose computer he worked on, had lost all her baby photos, yeah that did.
He wasn't able to recover much from her PC, but one of the few folders he retrieved turned out to have some naked photos of herself. That's embarrassing.
She cried, I didn't. I wanted to though, only reason I didn't is that I generally can't in front of other people. It's like urination stage fright, or performance anxiety.
So, I've lost over six weeks work on sorting out photos for the book I'm putting together, what I've been working on since early May.
I'd been saving into an external hard drive that I accidentally pulled off the desk via the power cables at the back, while rearranging a plant and a lamp. It landed with an almighty whack and it now refuses to open. Dozens and dozens of hours work. All gone, because I wasn't watching my feet properly.
He was the arch -IT/tech looking guy. Obese, shabbily dressed, haircut like a schoolboy and laconicly unhurried in his work for the $160 per hour he was charging for his services. I can't imagine how he'd handle people crying in front of him. Then again what do I know.
No crying, but went and hyperventilated a bit though, in the corner behind my bookshelves where he couldn't see. Behind my weights and back rollers and piles of DVDs and y'know, everything I own that doesn't make this a cliche single guy's pad. Fuck it.
Anyway I hope he didn't hear me, He was phoning in his job summary. Just reiterating loudly to his boss that we couldn't get anything of the drive.
I was pacing my place waiting for him to leave making fists, breathing deep through my nose, probably most people who be very uncomfortable being in the same room with me. If he noticed my body language at all he didn't care.
Figured I'd cry or smash something after he'd left, but I didn't. Went straight down to JB to buy a new 2TB hard drive to start over again, from scratch. Because that's doing something. Because it feels better to do things. Like actual functional, emotionally intelligent people do. So today I'll pretend to be one of those.
Still pretty numb though, at least I don't feel like crying or breaking anything now. Don't get me wrong, if I thought it would make me feel better, even temporarily, then I would. Ultimately it'd just be another mess I'd made that I have to clean up.
As soon as I finish this piece of writing I have to crack open that box and start over. Writing helps. The time I didn't cry because I didn't lose baby photos and no one random saw my tits and I hooray still live in the first world. (Although first-world is a term that refers to the cold war era -with the Soviet Block and allies being the second world, so technically I don't live in the first world anymore.)
Anyway, here I go again. I'll watch my feet better next time.