Chapter 1
Where should I start?
That feels like the obvious question.
Everything starts somewhere. Usually at the beginning.
The beginning is often found at the end.
I am rambling.
My hands won’t stop shaking.
I don’t want to write. I need to.
Jane told me “Journal, it helps.”
I feel my chest fall into a sigh.
My ears trace its sound disappearing into the low hum of my oxygenator.
My hand keeps quivering.
I fall deeper into the sofa, my shoulders becoming at one with the cushions.
Jane.
I met her recently.
She is interesting.
She knits.
She cries at small things.
She moved here recently.
Does she write about me in her journal?
I try to write, the pen touches the page just for a moment.
But another thought rises up like a bubble.
I was promoted recently.
There was a celebration.
They celebrated.
I was there.
Now I have to give a speech.
I have to.
The missing words sit on the page like judgement.
Exhale, slowly.
It is difficult to find a loyal company.
I hear a small click from the kitchen.
Coffee begins pouring automatically. Perfect temperature. Perfect timing. Every time.
The machine understands routine better than people do, understands neurochemistry.
Outside. My eyes dart towards the patio door. A seagull lands on the railing.
Its white back catches the sunlight so sharply that I have to squint.
I look back at the empty page.
Then I write.
I once was blind, but now I see.
There is but Maya before me.
Somatic consultant though I be,
as the wave is the sea.
Laugh for all.
Be it divine comedy.
I stop writing.
The page waits.
It’s funny, every now and again I almost re-emerge reminding myself of the samsara game, only to throw myself totally into the next experience. Forgetting completely until I return to myself.
I am to play the character of an Office Crier for a moment.
I find often, in times of stress, it’s hard to think of anything but myself, others I just think of in relation to myself.
It’s as if I have tunnel vision.
I still walk in the same park when I was young.
So much has changed yet it all seems the same.
We did go to war in the end.
It was quick.
It wasn’t like the old wars.
No need for it.
Smart people realised we need to come together if we are to survive.
They did it humanely.
But, it caused a regression.
I used to teach.
I used to be an English Teacher.
Historical Legacy.
I am a living history.
I am writing my first speech but I don’t know what to say.
Ask someone to speak and they go quiet.
Tell someone to be spontaneous.
What world do I want to wake up to the day after my speech?
It’s funny, communication is the reason for so much trouble it is second only in cause to humanities inability to sit still quietly.
There’s more cargo ships on the horizon today.
I took a beautiful photo when there was one.
Now, day’s set sooner.
I need to take myself for a walk.
I shy from the world. I am not ready to speak.
They greet. I nod.
The sea air and battered fish pair well.
I am distracting myself.
I need to write.
I need to focus on writing.
What do I want people to feel?
I could say something generic, simple, easy. It's popular.
You are more capable than you think.
You can definitely go places and do stuff.
That could be a slogan everywhere and anywhere.
The western Amercians ran out of water.
Bad news gets more focus, but good news is better for moral.
I spend so much time worrying and when it comes to act I know I’ll make a split second decision.
The game is silly, really.
Seven deep breaths in, hold each breath, and exhale each for seven seconds.
It’s the most efficient way to reliability sleep.
Trust your body to breath you.
A loaf of bread is now discounted to £1.50.
It was £1 yesterday.
Someone had a party.
Young me had time to worry a lot.
Start or buy a business and get others to willingly do the work as quickly as possible.
That allowed me time to sit quietly.
I buy a baguette, chorizo, prosciutto, rocket, feta, pistachios and mozzarella.
I need to buy more pesto, vinegar and olive oil.
I go back and buy some.
The baguette releases a gentle crack as my knife glides through.
In a bowl the mixed chorizo, prosciutto, rocket, feta, pistachios and mozzarella all sliced
You have to be careful, use a small spoon and just ease the mixture atop.
Allow it to rest onto the baguette slices do not dump it.
Respect what nourishes you, what you allow into you.
I like to bake this for 10 minutes at 180c.
In those ten minutes I witness my mind wander.
I think of the speech.
It’s not a big deal.
It is.
It defines you.
One bad impression requires at least seven positive impressions to mitigate, at least that is what I’m was told.
I don’t hold to it, I starve the thought of attention and my mind returns to the mixing bowl.
I play music.
A few chicken wings, marinaded in ginger and garlic chilli oil with a few bits of rosemary and cracked pepper scattered in. Slowly roast, 180c for 20 minutes.
Pizza first. Wings second.
I can’t write as I eat so I watch the news.
Doom, Gloom, War and Turmoil. Always something.
Words of comfort in uncomfortable times.
Apparently we are addicted to the negative and positive cycles. Flood the body with cortisol then flush it out with dopamine. That’s addiction.
My pen feels heavy.
Hello everyone.
I am the new intercom voice.
It’s nice to meet you all.
Have a good day.
I tried.
Why can’t I be like the great speakers?
The one’s who can inspire millions?
I feel like I’m an impostor.
Not, completely.
But, there’s better people than me.
I am laying the foundation for hopefully years of work.
I don’t know what to say.
I didn't rest well.
I didn't prepare.
It's too late.
