I woke up this morning prematurely. You know when you wake after a very vivid dream, just after or during something realistically intense? Well, it usually doesn't involve me getting shot. It was quite a strange dream (for me), but I'm not going to get into it now.
Getting back to the day, I woke poorly. That is to say, I woke in ill health. I had, two nights previous, arrange a tour today for two gleamed-eyed visitors. A married couple in their late forties or fifties, I assume. We emailed over and back throughout the morning and afternoon about the planned trip to Howth. Now, I didn't let on that I was feeling poorly as, thinking as I do, I believed that I could cure it with the simple expedient known as 'sleep'.
I woke up an hour before we were set to meet. And yeah, of course, I felt great! No, not really. In fact, I felt worse than I had all day. Not only was it going to be exhausting to physically deliver myself to our rendez-vous, but I had not the time to research an itinerary and tour to verbally deliver to them. Were I not working tomorrow, I would have risked my health for them. They'll have to wait for the highly elusive mysteries of Ireland and her people for another day.
Having clocked up about 13-14 hours of sleep, I felt that, with already disappointing two souls, I had better not let the whole day become one of regret, so I readied myself. Bad idea. Yep, turned out to be one of those days when everything damn thing gets in your way or on your nerves. I''m not gonna present the whole, tedious, whinging list of annoyances here.
I left saying 'That fuckin' postman couldn't write the fuckin' thing on the fuckin' thing' - The post office staff had just informed me that my packet could not be collected there, but that it was in another post office. Not only did that lazy, loveless, lout of a postman fail to try to deliver a small enough packet to my house, but he couldn't even bother himself to inform me where the hell I could pick it up! The collection post office might as well have been behind enemy trenches - the physical drain experienced in getting to this post office alone, plus the reality that the other post office, that I 'should have went to' would be closed for at least 10 minutes by the time I would arrive, left me understandably soured. And I'd stay in that mood, at least until I gained something - most likely food.
It was raining all damn day! And, as I walked from the redundant post office to the supermarket, the dreariness and lethargy of my prior walk deepened to thoughts, reached by the slowly-inspiring melancholy mood (that we can all relate to, I think). It was 5pm. People returning from their listless work. The world was greyed by the clouds and the rain. I never thought a drizzle could be oppressive, but I suppose light laughter could cause you to choke if you do it for hours. All I was able to discern in the mist were the surprisingly occasional turd by a lamppost or wall. Nice. As if to remind me that the day was marked by the connotation 'shit'. Charles Aznavour was sighing in my ears with 'Bon Anniversaire'. Not a happily sung song, just in case you didn't know. What I didn't think then, but I think now what I should have thought then was: "feckin' French man. At least it's probably sunny when he wrote or when he sings this song."
What I actually thought was more like - "God! Now I feel once again why so many people wanted to leave Ireland and it's cursed rain." I started to slowly ramble. I took out the phone and started to record. Recording what your saying rather than writing it down always seems like a more natural and productive way of creating prose or rhetoric. I must have looked some sight - trudging along, walking into the rain. Passing cars and pedestrians must have been thinking that I looked like a poor, pathetic soul, and maybe even that I was crying. It was feckin' raining into my face. They're not tears, I'm not feckin' crying! You rarely stop to assess yourself and whether or not you've started to think like a paranoiac when you're this tired.
God, I've written so much in this post already. Yet, I still can't remember why exactly I decided to start writing this post in the first place. Ah, it's the tiredness again. I'll just shut up now, hope I haven't made many mistakes, and go to sleep and hope that I'll be bright and rested for work tomorrow.