A friend of mine once said "don't try", a statement I have been trying to gauge and make sense of since first hearing it. As you may or may not be aware of by now, this kitchen sink drama I call my life consists of:
- thrusting myself into embarrassing situations - these situations are sometimes completely avoidable and I could choose not to take any part in such horseplay, but my subconscious seems to pursue shame in the same way a dog chases it's own tail.
- dwelling upon the entirely trivial for obscene amounts of time.
- romanticizing everything in some fruitless quest to become Amelie, or at least Clementine.
- likening myself to fictional characters and adopting the words of others along my way to articulate the feelings I could never express using my own limited vocabulary.
- Utilizing film quotations and living vicariously through entirely imaginary heroes. (the very fact the so called "friend" I mentioned earlier in this post is none other than Charles Bukowski - one of my many idols and a man I believe would roll in his defeatist grave if he were to ever read anything I have written - proves that the world of fantasy and fiction is a place I would much rather inhabit.)
My Mum had her operation today. I feel entirely selfish in not mentioning this is any previous posts, but life goes on despite my own downfalls. Sat in the hospital ward and seeing my tower of strength struggling to perform even the most basic of tasks without assistance made me think of Bukowski's words and the silence I was subjected to became all to much and I began to write.
The hospital ward is quiet. Ridiculously quiet. There are 6 people sitting in the same room, myself being one, and yet no-one is talking. The women all look pensive and weak, most of all my Mother. 6 people sitting in the same room but there is no conversation.
"So then..." a man attempts to break the cold silence (penetrated only occasionally by an infant wailing in a nearby ward)
"So then..." is as far as he gets and the silence continues.
I think about throwing a chair across the room to cause some kind of scene, but I decide against it. I think about smothering the shrieking child in the maternity ward. I think about this for far too long.
An overly friendly nurse comes in to check up on a fat lady in the bed next door to my Mother's. I would apologise for my choice of words, but she really is disgustingly fat. The nurse closes the curtains around her bed and I'm tempted to peek in. Morbid curiousity. Morbidly obese.
The hat I am wearing is ridiculous, a red woolen beret type thing. I am completely overdressed.
My Mother is wearing a hospital gown and she looks okay. She fits in, everyone here is wearing hospital gowns, she's one of the gang.
I never dress appropriately. I look like I'm going to fucking Glastonbury.
The curtains are pulled back and nurse delivers a cheery farewell to all the women in the ward. I feel bad for calling the lady fat as I realise I have eaten 2 packets of crisps in a row, and could easily eat another.
The rain falls hard outside, mirroring the mood. I genuinely believe the weather understands me better than any person I have ever met. (I also believe that television and music are aware of events in my life - but that's another story.)
Two women are now in full conversation and by eavesdropping I learn that one of them lives literally streets away from me. I don't acknowledge this fact and eventually the small talk subsides to a mere shaking of heads after every mouthful of tea. We are silent once more. Back to where we began. Without a sound.
The silence in this place is seemingly more contagious than any sickness.
As we leave the ward the fat lady is eating a cake and I think about getting another packet of crisps.
I apologise for the insane length of this post.
xo.
