Today, I was going to get up and go running. My alarm went off at seven. I thought, “screw this”, rolled over and went back to sleep.
At half past ten, feeling somewhat like a zombie, I finally rose. Already my well intentioned productivity was looking very much like all intention, no productivity.
Breakfast, tea, as much internet as I could cram in before noon, and I finally worked up the shits needed to be given to leave the house. I walked to the post office, and collected a parcel. Inside the parcel was a present for my good friend, whose birthday is today. The present was already going to be late, since I had to send it on further still, but I wanted to quickly check on the quality of the garment I had ordered and conceal any receipts before putting it back in the post.
And disaster. The item had an extreme design flaw in the zipper. I stared at it for an hour, trying to make the problem go away with magic, and when that failed, jumped online to work out my options. In the end, I could either pay an extra ten dollars and get a replacement which may well have the same issue and would take another three weeks of fucking around with postage, or try and fix the damn thing myself.
After some consideration, I chose the later, and a couple of hours later had my efforts rewarded with the problem fixed. Feeling good, I started working out the postage business, and quickly ran into frustration as the Australian postal website, for those of you who don’t know, is a fucking nightmare on steroids. After sorting out what I needed to do I started walking back to the post office, only to realise halfway there I had forgotten to wrap the gift and write a note. I was already not looking forward to facing the post office man, who through dealings in the past has earned himself the private nickname of “that rude, arrogant, unhelpful twat”, so giving up in a blurting of expletives and turning of my heel, I marched home and decided to leave the package for tomorrow.
My next task was to do my tax return.
You all know how much I despise dong my taxes and every year I always leave it to the last minute. This year I decided to spare myself the long term anxiety and knock it over early. Three hours later, I finally got the damn thing done. I’m glad of that, although taxes are one of those things that leaves you a little uneasy, like you can never relax about them. A paper sniper aimed at you head. One of the perks of being a grown up I guess.
It was evening by now, and feeling a bit gloomy that my days activities had limited themselves to sewing a garment that shouldn’t have needed fixing in the first place, and driving myself nuts with tax forms, I decided to cook dinner.
The curry was less them impressive, and now I sit at my computer once again, amidst a room that borders on chaos in how messy it is, and despite the fact my life is so boring and inconsequential, I feel the urge to tell someone about it.
Notice throughout my day, there was no real moment of people contact. I have spoken to two people today, brief, fleeting exchanges with lots of politeness and formality about it. Over in minutes. I feel a little lonely.
So I wanted to talk to somebody, and even if that somebody is potentially empty cyberspace, well, this is why I have a blog.