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.

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