NEEDLING

It’s Wednesday evening and I’ve had a long day. Couldn’t sleep last night so I was out of bed around 4am reading Love’s Lovely Counterfeit by James M. Cain – who also wrote The Postman Always Rings Twice - which I rightly finished... loved it, but then again, I’m a sucker for those kinds of books, and Cain, though it’s been many years since I’ve read anything by him, is often pretty darn good. By 6h30 there was nothing left to do, I’d drank some hot tea called De-Tox, which didn’t do anything for me, so I’d drank the two last beer in the fridge while reading the last few chapters in the book, that didn’t do anything for me, so I walked to the local supermarket and bought a melon and a grapefruit, walked back home, sat on my couch, still tired as hell but not sleepy one bit, that wasn’t gonna do it, so I took a long hot shower, and still nothing. There was nothing left for me to do but to go back to bed. I did. Nothing doing. No sleep. Rolling over, having weirdo nightmares, half awake, half drowning in my own silliness, I was trying desperately to get some sleep. 7h15, the alarm went off, or rather, the alarm on my cell phone went off, I changed it to 8h30, and went back to sweating it out all by myself rolling around wanting needing to catch any kind of descent snooze. Nope, wasn’t gonna happen. 8h30 I rolled out of bed, put some clothes on not looking whether they came from the clean pile or the dirty pile, and my eyes barely able to function, I drove my thirty and some minutes to work, my melon by my side. I arrived at work early, didn’t clock in, but sat at the back desk, cutting my melon in half and starting eating it. I hadn’t taken two bites that somebody was all ready beating on the back door. I looked at the clock, it wasn’t even 9h20 yet, ten minutes before I’m suppose to clock in. My shirt open, my clothes totally disheveled, I grunt to the back door, open it to a surprised delivery guy.

“You here all ready!? I wasn’t expecting to see you here this early, man.”

It’s one of my favorite delivery guys, so I can’t be pissed at him, but I do give him a little hell anyway.

“Hey man, I ain’t even clocked in yet, what’s the idea?”
“Sorry, man, don’t know why they put me on your stop this early.”
“Shit... I was eating breakfast and all, trying to relax a second before having to start my day.”

Took that order. He left. So I sat back down, finished my melon rapidly, and went to go sit on the shiter for a few minutes, my first bowel movement of the day, the most important one, when, I’m barely through doing my business that here it goes again, somebody knocking on the back door.

And that’s how my whole day’s been going. During class tonight, watching Nosferatu by F.W. Murnau, I could barely keep my eyes open, my head falling backwards, catching myself before falling off into lala land. I was afraid I was going to make some stupid comment, because I couldn’t always tell the difference between what was happening on screen and what was happening in my head.

It’s 22h56 now, I’ve been home a while, I made myself some simple diner, had myself a couple glasses of white wine, watched The Killers a short film by Andrei Tarkovsky, his first – I watched Robert Siodmak's (1946) version a few nights ago – all based on Hemmingway’s short story, and I figured I should visit my blog before going to bed.

(Today is an average day for me these days, just to show you why I haven’t been writing much here as of late.)