With my day creeping towards noon with the energy of a deydrated slug. I am tempted so very tempted. And in fact I could quite severely justify this temptation.
I've already committed to nearly a 1/5 of a century in fees on that damn DV camera that is meant to be solidifying my place in 'the art world' and the comments from the previous evening put me in the category I had a sneaking suspiscion I was creeping into….'gentle' and 'sensitive', and a few 'excitings' thrown in for good measure but only because one person had written it and the next four left one of these " in the comment box.
I could take a long lunch, get some sea air and vid the seagulls dipping and flying on gusts of up to 18 mph as updated every 15 minutes by my web browser. Or I could put up one of those 'so polite it's rude' signs "due to unforeseen circumstances…", I can't be asked.
and even Jeremy Clarkson is boring me this morning, as is Mandy Moore, Gwen Stefani and Kafka. I even looked up the Battle of the Bulge at 11a on my Wiki-love and grew disinterested after the third line where it was "bloodiest", "U.S.", 19,000 dead. Lucky granddad made it home with his new cig habit, and forty years later had to wheeze himself into heaven, leaving his initial sharing son to run the dairy business into the future.
I blame dehydration and staying up late dreaming in every fairytale ever told, and waking up thinking I was in one. Who would have thought that the Princess Diaries coming out in the past five years actually would change my life.
Two whole guests entered the gallery in the span of 8 minutes.
Enter – woman who huffed a little, but at least made an attempt to read things by leaning closer to them on the wall a little bit like they were infected, if I hadn't been there I bet she would have held her hand up to her mouth:
"Hmmf."
"Is there more upstairs?"
Exit – woman who huffed a little, but at least made an attempt to read things by leaning closer to them on the wall a little bit like they were infected, if I hadn't been there I bet she would have held her hand up to her mouth:
Enter – man in orange who is blatantly looking for watercolours and/or thick black lines:
"Thanks very much."
Exit – man in orange who is blatantly looking for watercolours and/or thick black lines.
If anything my continued analysis, not even that, observation and slight fictivity of these inidividuals taking a few moments out of their day to 'pop in' should be enough to keep me here. It is, but then again, it's not.
62 minutes is my goal. I'm happy to call it 32 and spend the final 15 cleaning up and taking a trip into the newsagent for a seriously necessary bottle of still water before getting on another time sucking bus to read a time sucking 'sunday book' on a Wednesday afternoon with the taste of aniseed and licorice putrifying my tongue.
Did I mention the decaf? I tell you what those, I refuse to give up dreaming in fairy tales late into the evening, waking up thinking I'm Ariel or Beau sans beau.
That is worth it. 18 months and a handful of Gs and only 25 minutes to go. Gotta get cracking if I'm going to make this convincing.
Enter – man who could potentially be the building owner.
"It would take a lot more time to take it all in." (paraphrased slightly)
Exit – man who could potentially be the building owner. (He was.)
and then my head blew off in the wind.
