Chamomile vs the world

The early dark. The strange world. The fact that all the bills have started shouting again. I didn’t feel my best today. I tried to find that light I was talking about yesterday but it was elusive. I think normally I would have opened a bottle of wine at about 2pm and stuck a chicken in the oven, addled my brain with the wine, rolled in grease until I could barely move, jumped in a hot bath. But I’m veggie and I’m off the booze. So I’m healthier. But there’s nowhere habitual to run. Mindfulness was the only option. And phone calls.

“He must have died 9 years ago,” says a friend about my uncle. 9 years for him. 16 for mum. Booze a big part of it with both of them. Better by far to look at these things than to keep on pushing them underwater. But sometimes it’s nice to switch the head off.

Remembrance Sunday. Most of the marches were banned. Just like the fifth of November which went without a whisper. Just a few people firing off crap fireworks in the back garden. Dog owners will have been happy. But it’s another little thing missing from the shape of the winter. “We see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.” Apart from an epidemic.

If I was going anywhere these days I’d have ended up buying a poppy at the tube station from one of the well dressed women with the angry eyes. It would have ended up crumpled and I’d have spent a good fiver on replacements by the end of the season. If I was going anywhere.

I could’ve done some work in my flat. I could’ve written something. I could’ve sanded down the wall in the spare room. Instead I mushed up an avocado and had it with eggs and ate it on my bed in my pants with the blinds down. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Mister Al Barclay!” *scronch* *scronch* Then I played Animal Crossing, bought a load of turnips, reset my switch, and discovered they’d all rotted because the console corrected the time and it thought I was cheating.

I’m going to start reading a new book. I’m gonna put a line through today, read until I can’t keep my eyes open, and dream of not having lots of simultaneous time sensitive debt. Then tomorrow I’ll get up early and start the working week.

The good thing is, I adore my huge new/old silver plate teapot. It holds enough chamomile to put the busiest brain to sleep.

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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