Notes from an ordinary day

Early morning. I get up and make coffee, hoping I won’t have to meet anyone until it kicks in. Force myself to open the blinds before switching on the laptop. Sometimes it’s easy to forget which one is my real window to the world.

Short visit to grandma- it's her birthday today, but she's depressed and refuses to celebrate. We're the same, you and I, I tell her: stubborn survivors with self-destructive tendencies. She laughs, seeming slightly better. I leave, feeling guilty for being ever busy, when all she needs is company.

Outside there's still snow on the pavement, but the thermometer says 21. Old men are sitting in what counts for a park in this latitude, talking politics. The pigeons have begun their mating rituals. Why does everyone remember sex as soon as the sun’s out?

(I'm not referring to myself, here; my obsession with sexuality is weatherproof. This has nothing to do with desire, of course, it's more like a philosophy. I remain true to my- personally defined- duty to challenge taboos and stereotypes. Foucault would be proud.)

On the tube, I listen to Janis Joplin. I wish I could sing like her, though if I did, I'd probably be dead by 27. A cute guy is looking at me; he can't be more than 17. Get shy and pretend I haven't noticed. I’m late for work- as usually- and struggle to write a boring article, whilst fantasizing of beaches.

Ex-boyfriend calls; we make plans for the night, faithful to our silent agreement not to talk about anything but the present. When we meet, we act as if we're still together- only without the fighting. When we part, we go our separate ways. No questions asked. Which is hard, yet not as hard as to suddenly cut contact. You don’t just stop loving a person; it's simply that other things get in the way.

On my way home I think of a story that’s part of a story that’s part of a story…Nothing that hasn’t been done before, but the potential implications are limitless- to Imagination's delight. A stray dog comes to smell my shoes, then nods in approval. I bet you're the one who woke me up last night, I say. He waves his tail. I smile, all memories of loss and pain and sorrow evaporating, albeit temporarily. Aren't Fridays great, for some reason?