An idle mind is a dangerous place

Posted: January 27, 2014 in Uncategorized
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It’s a fact of life that when you’re sitting at a bus shelter time will grind to a halt. This was especially true in my case since I wasn’t even waiting for a bus. Three creaking, exhaust spluttering, contraptions had come and gone, but I lingered on. I tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible, legs crossed, head buried in a book, and a surreptitious glance every now and then for good measure. To the casual observer I may very well have been invisible, or so I liked to imagine, but in reality I probably looked as out of place as a feminist at a hot dog eating contest.

The urge to pee was becoming rather unbearable. Just thinking about it seemed to make my belly swell. To distract myself, I decided to pretend I was a camel, holding on to my valuable fluid reserves for a rainy day. Wait! That doesn’t make sense. Why do I need to pee so badly? I love my coffee, don’t get me wrong, but why I decided a fourth cup was in order this morning only heaven knows. Now I was jittery, and anxious to loosen my belt and imitate a sprinkler. But I daren’t move. Murphy’s Law is a bitch! I had to be at bus shelter 16 as detrimental as that might be to my bladder.

People watching, despite what the movies might say to the contrary, isn’t actually that entertaining. People are hideously dull. I am generalising here and with good reason. Try as I might I couldn’t really come up with a reasonable explanation for why the lady sitting to the right of me was wearing a plaid trench coat. I decided to settle with the following scenario: she was a cheese farmer, and years of being exposed to blue cheese had stunted her sense of fashion. Sorry it’s all I could come up with on short notice. Not that I am one to judge. I was wearing corduroy pants. But I’m poor, so you know, beggars can’t be choosers.

An idle mind is a dangerous place. There I was trying to mind my own business, or at least trying to, when I caught myself whistling a Taylor Swift tune. Something about being twenty two. Damn it I don’t even know the words and it’s stuck in my head. Personally I blame commercial radio stations. An upstanding citizen like me could never be accused of being a Taylor Swift monger. I’m just joking of course there’s nothing upstanding about me, unless of course I’m imagining Taylor Swift in suggestive poses. I concede that was in poor taste.

I had been waiting for 3 hours and 22 minutes. I was counting. Obviously! When, the ice-cream van finally rolled in. I wouldn’t say I’m an addict. I just have needs of the chocolaty kind. You may be surprised to hear this, or perhaps not, but apparently loitering around ice-cream vans while there are children around doesn’t look good especially when you have stubble like me. So I’ve had to resort to this. Making deals with the devil (a term of endearment for the driver of said ice-cream van). I concede he and I are on a first name kind of basis. He provides me my fix and I don’t do him grievous bodily harm. Oh, and I give him money too.

Luxuriating. Yes, it’s a word. A magical place (perhaps akin to a crack addict’s high, who knows, drugs are bad people) where vanilla and biscuit bits course through my veins, creating a sugary super highway to my digestive system. Right now I love the world. By which I mean I can probably handle people in small doses now. I have the urge to high-five someone. Correction. I have the urge to high-five someone pretty because I’m shallow and hygiene is important. I wish I knew what my purpose in life was. But based on the fact that I’m not lactose intolerant perhaps I’ll become a rep for a dairy company. Although I’d probably eat all the profits. And that would be bad.

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Comments
  1. Desire says:

    AAAAAAAAAAA youuuuuuuuuuuu said ‘bitch’!!!!

    I am not ashamed to admit that I am an ice cream addict. Like music, it can change my mood in an instant, the smell of it makes my eyes glaze over, I purr like a kitten when I eat the stuff…. it makes the world okay.

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