How I Sound, at 2.24

April 28, 2012 § Leave a comment

An additional post, since apparently I “sound really depressed”.   I was fired from a job once for looking too depressed.   It was one of the worst jobs I have ever had to do but still, losing it because customers were reporting that my mental breakdown was putting them off their food was a massive setback at the time.  I was trying to get rent and bills paid, food bought, in Kingsford, a few months after the Rosebery house and the events that sent me into the street.  Activity from moment to moment, and Jack Daniels, got me through the agonising hours;  university seemed to have slipped from my grasp, possibly forever, due to my unstable living circumstances and changes in the welfare laws.  And returning home just wasn’t an option.  I was in the mindset at that time that I never, ever would, and I repeatedly promised myself that, sat sinister inside low clouds of tobacco, while my stomach seemed stalled and rusty with the sharp anxiety of survival.  I might have said something dramatically puerile, but nonetheless true, such as: I would rather die, vomiting and delirious and slumped in some cranny over here than go back.  To cunts.

And then I got fired.  The shift manager, who was five years younger than me and looked like a face drawn on a cylinder, waited until I had finished cleaning the toilets and putting away the buckets and other gear before handing me my final money.  I was particularly irked by this last detail since despite the jarring reality of being alone in a city in which I was now unemployed, my mind registered the lost opportunity to make a cursing, violent exit, such as I have always been intrigued to perform, and even more so at the establishment in question.  I would have enjoyed tipping the mop water into their coat room, or perhaps being removed from the premises while offering loud offensive predictions about the genitalia of the licencee.  I walked home across two suburbs and fell into bed with my envelope, but still didn’t manage any tears until two years later when I was slightly less set about the arms and shoulders like an iron relic from a dead regime; hard against every other class of human, and even harder, and colder, in the heart.

I was going to leave it there but I didn’t really address the original proposition.  Whatever.  I’m sleepy.  Another time.

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