The Friday disconnect
Friday, April 4th, 2008 10:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
caddymanThis is the second Friday in succession that I have felt a little ropy, though today I fancy I can put my finger on the reason if not the precise combination. Painkillers, alcohol, four injections of whatever novocaine variant it was that turned my face to cold rubber for four hours or so and too much swallowed blood.
The queasiness stems from waking up at just before 3 am with reflux, which developed into something less pleasant and me unable to give my mouth anymore than a cursory rinse for fear of dislodging the blood clot that is preventing by brane from seeping down through my upper jaw. I could really have done with more sleep and right now could do with a much cooler office to be miserable in. More than anything, the reason I hate feeling simply ropy is because it is enough to make life moderately miserable, but is too little to develop histrionics about and a martyr complex is completely beyond the pail. In short, I am not miserable enough to enjoy my misery; I am just miserable enough to be miserable without the perks.
There is an occasional traveller on the Tube – or rather a regular traveller that I occasionally see – who I think may be an early example of genetic splicing or some monstrous cross-breeding programme. He is a short, scruffy man in a pin-stripe suit and an erstwhile blue anorak. He is going prematurely grey and looks as though he spends his spare time when not taking the Tube bathing in chip fat.
It is his habit is to lurk at the back of the platform away from the other passengers until the train arrives. As soon as it pulls up and the doors open, he darts with unsuspected speed and agility combined with consummate rudeness through the crowd, deftly leaving everyone mercifully untouched, and onto the train ahead of those closer to the door. Once in the carriage, he is able, by the same furtive movements to weave through any group and steal the last empty seat, even if someone else is already advancing on it. He then sits staring into the middle distance, clutching the world’s oldest and greasiest briefcase.
This gentleman I have dubbed the Weasel and he has caught my attention. He will, no doubt, dwell in this journal on occasional basis with Creepy Swedish Guy and if I see him again, Merlin.
Back to work now, and more lukewarm coffee. For the next couple of days I am not allowed anything hot.
The queasiness stems from waking up at just before 3 am with reflux, which developed into something less pleasant and me unable to give my mouth anymore than a cursory rinse for fear of dislodging the blood clot that is preventing by brane from seeping down through my upper jaw. I could really have done with more sleep and right now could do with a much cooler office to be miserable in. More than anything, the reason I hate feeling simply ropy is because it is enough to make life moderately miserable, but is too little to develop histrionics about and a martyr complex is completely beyond the pail. In short, I am not miserable enough to enjoy my misery; I am just miserable enough to be miserable without the perks.
There is an occasional traveller on the Tube – or rather a regular traveller that I occasionally see – who I think may be an early example of genetic splicing or some monstrous cross-breeding programme. He is a short, scruffy man in a pin-stripe suit and an erstwhile blue anorak. He is going prematurely grey and looks as though he spends his spare time when not taking the Tube bathing in chip fat.
It is his habit is to lurk at the back of the platform away from the other passengers until the train arrives. As soon as it pulls up and the doors open, he darts with unsuspected speed and agility combined with consummate rudeness through the crowd, deftly leaving everyone mercifully untouched, and onto the train ahead of those closer to the door. Once in the carriage, he is able, by the same furtive movements to weave through any group and steal the last empty seat, even if someone else is already advancing on it. He then sits staring into the middle distance, clutching the world’s oldest and greasiest briefcase.
This gentleman I have dubbed the Weasel and he has caught my attention. He will, no doubt, dwell in this journal on occasional basis with Creepy Swedish Guy and if I see him again, Merlin.
Back to work now, and more lukewarm coffee. For the next couple of days I am not allowed anything hot.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-04 10:58 am (UTC)I'm getting this creepy image of something reptillian shedding its skin *shudder* thanks Bri, can we have more Merlins please?
(no subject)
Date: 2008-04-04 11:00 am (UTC)I agree; we need more Merlins and fewer Weasels.