How are you?
Ah. You’re nearly crying. This is a big thing for you. Actually, this is a big thing.
What are your options? What do you want?
I had thought of cycling into Swanston to the fruit stall and the cycle shop. The weather forecast was sunny in the morning, cloudy with a chance of rain in the afternoon. This bike was considerably harder to pedal than the other, it took 20% longer to get back from K on Friday. Then I checked the tyre pressure, it is below ten psi.
It is nice to cycle in the sunshine. I like that fruit stall. Pump the tyres up. Would it be easier with road tyres? Get a foot pump?
Late waking up, hard getting myself going. Breakfast then deal with it? What about TV with breakfast? I watch Person of Interest ep. 4.11, a guilty pleasure. The UK is a year behind its broadcast. This starts poorly- the guns fire, the mooks fall- but ends up thought-provoking and moving. Especially the kiss. So now it’s 10.30. What now?
The options are, pump up the tyres, go to the cycle shop and investigate options- road tyres, slime, harder tyres- I have discussed this and thought about it in greater detail than I wish to explain to you-
go for a walk in the sunshine
stay sitting here, with more quality trash TV- Gotham: Wrath of the Villains. I have all those subtitled dramas and BBC4 Art documentaries recorded, I will get round to them later.
I have never met the other me, but had an inkling of her before. She does the right thing, all the time, and likes it. She was there when winning tribunals I thought We are unworthy servants, we have only done our duty and losing I was miserable and angry with myself. I did not realise it, but it was she to whom I compared myself. Be perfect, as your Heavenly Father is perfect.
And now, I have all the time in the world. Always more time, as when I was only procrastinating. I could be her, producing the perfect ET1, questionnaire or submission,
Fuck! Middle aged barrister, the difference in fire-power was so extreme the tribunal was standing up for me a bit, he growled a bit then showed his claws… God, that was a humiliating day, one more
except I never could be, having written it it would be crap.
I could be like her, now, the perfect me, doing the obvious thing to sort my transportation problems, or just walking, which should be pleasanter and is clearly better for me than slumping before the telly.
Or I could blog about it
She, being weightless, skims over the surface
I wade through mud, resenting it
At least I now have sympathy for myself, no longer screaming GET UP GET ON WITH IT