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.