The man… the other

So, this other man has a regular job and a pretty regular lifestyle. It annoys me to see how regular he is. You could pretty much lift him up and plant him anywhere else in the country and he would fit right in. He is that regular. I am sure he doesn’t care for walking with his eyes closed along the racecourse just so that he can feel the blustery wind trace the movement of his body; nor does he like to eat in secret in case anyone catches sight of the contents of his mouth as he masticates.

I wish I could be him. Whilst it would be a relief to get rid of these damn whimsical fancies that sit on my shoulder just for a little while, I am not sure I could function for long without them. So I try and meet the other man halfway by doing a few regular things every now and then. However, these confounded fancies tend to twist and turn my reality and even the regular after a while, becomes distorted.

All of this probably comes across as vacuous prose written by someone who has very little regard for the quality of thought. You know, that intangible substance that seeps through other people’s writing and makes you feel week or sentimental; or in some cases arouses rather strong emotions which take you by surprise. If you have read some of my earlier notes, I hope that you can see I do possess some of these qualities. However, at the moment I am shrouded in envy (having been in the company of the regular man). I want to be him for a little while. Then I wouldn’t have to mentally explain myself or make apologies every time I meet other people. Perhaps some of the other quirks will go away as well. But what if they don’t return? Will that fear, of being plain, bland and boring, which sits somewhere in the background (as a dull sensation above my stomach), will it consume me?

What a terrible, tedious existence. I wonder what should I do.

Revisiting… Encounters

I wouldn’t have taken any notice of the middle-aged lady who stepped onto the number 11 that day. Its just that we were in the midst of the first proper thunderstorm of the season and she was the only other person to use the service that morning. In fact, it seemed we were the only people on the road that day. With the rain lashing against the windows, I could barely see beyond a few feet.

I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but something wasn’t quite right. Then it struck me, it was the expression on her face. She had just paid for a ticket when a young man, completely drenched, ran in after her. She looked at him and scrambled up the stairs. He followed. I wondered whether I should do the same, but they both came rushing down a few seconds later.

‘Stop the bus,’ the lady screamed. ‘Please, I insist you stop the bus!’ The driver turned back and glared at her and continued to drive.

It was obvious she was distressed. Whilst I was tempted to intervene, I made a decision not to get involved until it was absolutely necessary. Besides, if anything did go wrong or the young man resorted to violence I could tackle him right away. They were standing just a few seats ahead, close enough for me to hear what was being said.

For a few seconds they just stared at each other. The wild rain had hemmed us in from all sides and the atmosphere in the bus was tense. Then when he took a step forward, she instantly stepped back. He held up his hand and apologized. The next time he tried, he held out his hand for her to take. She looked at it, confused.

‘Please, I just want to talk,’ he said.

The lady glanced in my direction. Caught by surprise I looked away but wasn’t quick enough. I was worried that they would go back upstairs. But much to my relief they stayed below. Perhaps she did feel safer in my company. In any case I took out the day’s paper and pretended to read to avoid drawing any more attention to myself.

As they walked past me, to the back of the bus, I caught a whiff of her perfumed. It sounds strange to say, but it smelt quite old fashioned. I don’t think she was from the city.

The man… (collection grows)

I could be grateful to that gentleman in the clinic who first made the suggestion. However, after much deliberation I have come to the conclusion that I possessed this knowledge long before I met him, it just hadn’t surfaced. And for his relatively insignificant role in facilitating this process I owe him a word of thanks.

I probably come across as arrogant. Now, I really don’t have to explain my thinking, but as you are taking the time to read this, let me just say that I have to be cautious…

The man… work.

I do work, of course I do. Doesn’t everybody? But then again, I have always carried this suggestion that I am meant to work. I don’t know how or when it first appeared, but now it just sits there. Sometimes it manifests as a dull sensation, over my right shoulder, almost like a conscience, watching over everything I do. There are times when this sensation grows into an almost unbearable pain. Unsurprisingly this happens when I am working hard.

Over time I have learnt to manage this presence. I find it reacts differently to the various activities I undertake. Sometimes it even becomes a pleasant feeling and shifts elsewhere in my body. Like a warm feeling in my heart or a gentle buzz in my lower back. I find it very relaxing whenever this happens. But the thing is, unlike the times when the sensation becomes unpleasant, I have yet to pinpoint the stimuli which turns it into a positive sensation….

The man… Miscellaneous habits.

Every day I visit the racecourse and walk along the asphalt track that runs parallel to the turf. Sometimes I close my eyes just to see if I can continue to walk in a straight line. I prefer to do so when it is sunny and I can hide behind sunglasses. However, sometimes I find it very difficult to resist the temptation and close them regardless.

I feel different when I walk this way. It is very hard to put this feeling into words. When I close my eyes it feels as if I have taken a step back. All those colours, like the blue of the sky and the green of the grass, which constantly fight for attention, fade away and are replaced with new sensations. I become aware of how my hands swing whilst I walk. On blustery days I can feel all the muscles in my body tense up as I walk against the wind. This is why I relish my walks at the race-course.

..

If it were up to me, I would prefer to keep my mouth close at all times whilst eating in a public place. The fundamental problem is that there is no other way to ingest food other than opening my mouth. I have tried various techniques to get as much in as quickly as possible. This sound absurd but if you only knew how deeply uncomfortable I feel, you would sympathize. There really is no reason for anyone to catch a glimpse of the contents of my mouth as I masticate. And it doesn’t look pretty, especially when I am just about to swallow – all that food, regardless of what it is, gnashed to a pulp mixed with saliva. It is a terrible sight indeed.