I fell asleep with A Clockwork Orange playing. I don’t really understand why I chose to watch that particular film at 5.30 in the morning. I woke up around noon. And when I turned my laptop on, I was slightly surprised to find I’d done a drunken blog post. Oops. It was good, though, to go out and get a bit too drunk. I’ve been feeling fairly tightly wound for the past seven or eight weeks and really needed a nice big get-fucked-up night. And even though I kinda wish I hadn’t put up that drunken blog post, in one way, I’m happy I did. I’ve gotten out of the habit of writing about stuff and it has been a wee bit tough to get back into it. I read old blog posts and see a more interesting person than I feel now.
There’s gotta be a way to bash through it, though, and just typing is probably the best way. Just type. And include hyperlinks to the songs I am listening to as I type. Getting from my apartment to the bar last night was quite eventful. I was getting dressed, went into my office to get my shoes, and there was a smell like something was burning. I had a check around, everything seemed fine, but the smell was still there. Left the apartment and there was a stronger smoke smell in the stairwell. And it was a bit hazy, too. Hymn From a Village. The people who live in the flat below me had had some sort of fire. As I left there were a bunch of firemen and policemen stood around. (See, this is the problem, I don’t feel what I have to talk about is actually very interesting.) It obviously wasn’t that bad, cos lots of people, the tennants and stuff, were all just hanging around, and the firemen didn’t seem to care that much about their presence. Then there was a woman on the subway platform who was quite clearly having some sort of problem, shouting at people. As a train pulled in, she got on, and two ambulance dudes got on behind her to try and take her off. Lazarus. She and her companion insisted they were fine. On the train, at the next station, a woman got on and stood next to me near the door. As soon as the doors slid shut, she burst out crying. Next station, a woman who was selling a Big Issue-style magazine was trying to sell them and asking for spare change. The only change I had was eleven cents in coppers. She looked at my hand, looked at my slightly apologetic face, and shrugged my offer away.
Walking around is tough in Berlin at the moment. After five or six weeks of on/off/on again snow, the pavements have become caked with re-frozen slush. Tiny steps, no big strides. I’m glad I’m not an OAP with a dodgy hip. I fell over a couple of days ago. No damage done. My Favourite Dress. Not sure if I’m misremembering the past, but it seems to me that shopkeepers used to clear the pavements when I was younger. I know they did in Bellingham last year. Berlin is a grind when it is like this. The never ending greyness. Grey grey grey grey. Every single day. Right now, I’ve got a tickle in my ear. Seeing how long I can leave it before I have to stick my knuckle in there and have a good wiggle around. The weather and my mood are hand in hand right now. I had to re-type “weather” three times just then. (Waether.) I’d like to get my bicycle out and go for a ride, but it’s too cold, too icy. Sproston Green. I feel like I scraping the last dregs out of an old Nutella jar with this post. Hoping that by doing so, I can permit myself to open a nice new jar, stick a knife in and, and, whatever the end of this metaphor is. You know what I mean, and even if I’ve not made myself clear, it probably doesn’t matter. Actually, there’s no probably about it. Still, there are few things in life as simple and enjoyable as peeling off the thing on a new jar of Nutella and sticking a tea spoon in there and sucking the goodness off. End of blah blah. Big Decision.