Hermes the keen eyed messenger?

Every twenty minutes throughout last night I popped up suddenly with another thought, another memory. Things I never said and should have. Things I very much said and shouldn’t have. Things I forgot and things I remembered. Old things. Dead things. Moments where I’ve found myself belittled or frustrated or bullied or grieving. Life stacks up with these things and occasionally in the night our brain decides to run a little slide show of fuckery.

My first night trying to sleep sober for a fortnight… My brain is a bastard. It’ll get easier, I know that from experience. But it’s nights like last night that make me want to slap myself. I eventually stopped trying at half five, switched on the light and started reading. Breakfast at six and now I’m just weathering the day like it’s jetlag in the hopes that I’ll get back into a good rhythm if I can make it to evening.

The incompetents at Hermes are trying to deliver a parcel bless them, so I’m waiting downstairs in case they’re sucked into a wormhole trying to get to my doorway. It’s a nice enough day and an excuse to be outside for a wee while. Never fear, I won’t go near them when they show up. I’ll just shout advice to them from a safe distance. Once, they left a package on the steps of the block next door when I was home waiting for it. Another time they dumped it unceremoniously in my neighbour’s garden and the caretaker found it. I know from friends that they often put your stuff by the bins the evening before they go out.

Yesterday I was in my flat all day. That’s what we do these days. It’s all the rage in April 2020, staying at home. Nevertheless Hermes sent me an email explaining to me how I wasn’t home, which surprised me more than anyone. I thought about leaving a note by the door today explaining that if they push the button with the number corresponding to the flat number written on the label then a bell will be caused to sound inside my home that will alert me to their presence. I decided against it in case they can’t read.

I haven’t slept so I’m cranky.

But it’s a nice Spring day. The caretaker is strimming the lawn where they like to leave packages. There are certainly more cars on the road than there were a week ago, and fewer people wandering aimlessly up and down the Embankment. It’s still pretty quiet though. I can stand in the main road and take pictures.


I’m checking my email every few seconds in case Hermes suddenly announce that the dog ate my package.

HERE HE IS. Diáktoros! The giant killer. Keen eyed emissary. Son of Zeus. Messenger of the gods! He’s left his winged sandals at home. He’s slouching out of his van like a potato.

I managed to get away without sniping at him because, fuck it, he’s working, keeping things ticking over, and delivering this ridiculous purchase of a Nintendo Switch with Animal Crossing to me.

Oh dear me.

I’m treating myself to an idiotbox with some of The Tempest pay cheque. And why not – YOLO (You only lockdown once) Or I sincerely hope that to be the case.

Fellow geeks ASSEMBLE: SW-5401-2012-4164

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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