Thursday, 29 May 2014

yesterday's 5.30pm note to self

It is raining so I buy a bottle of red wine in the afternoon and come home and hatch plans to stay inside. I unplug the router. I make cheese on toast: emmental and black olives and cheap supermarket pesto. I spent 49 cents extra for the dense volkhorn bread, and it is delicious; it goes well with the wine (a rioja) and the day (a grey so thick it is almost guttural, a lazy insistent rain). There is no one to tell me what to do, except for myself, so I plot.    
    Today, I will read some short stories, luxuriantly, whimsically, in no hurry at all. When I find sentences I like, I will write them down. Later, when I come across these sentences, I will think for a moment that I’m a genius, and then I will remember, and I will laugh.
    I will burn incense. Why not? I don’t live with asthmatics any more and the smell of nag champa evokes everything about being seventeen. Why shouldn’t I, tonight, pretend to be seventeen? I will burn candles too, and when I blow them out I will make wishes that I believe in wholeheartedly. After all, there is no one here to stop me.
    I will take a bath. It will smell of eucalyptus and mint, and have far more bubbles than is strictly necessary. I will stay in the bath for a long time, topping up the hot again and again. I will read in the bath and make yet another book bloated and warped with steam.
    I will cook. I don’t know what yet, but it will be unnecessarily elaborate for someone living alone. Perhaps there will be multiple courses. There will be aggressive flavours: anchovy and capers, carmelised onion, szeuchuan peppercorn. I will serve myself at a candlelit table. I will send my compliments to the chef.
    I will write—of course, I will write. The stories I am working on: a dark little tale about teenagers and menstruation and the delirious feeling of girl-crush. A horror story about Salome and Circe. A childhood tale about cliff tops, about fate, about the game we played with the reeds. These words here.

<it was all true. I did each of these things in turn and ah, they were glorious>

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