Anyway, so I’m sitting here thinking of problems and issue and niggles to get myself worked up about to spark some gritty, insightful writing- when I needn’t. I am not overly happy but there is no reason why I shouldn’t write something intentionally to cheer myself up. Actually, what am I saying- I’m literally not even sad. I am sitting in GCSE Music class but we’re not even listening to anything. Instead we’re having a discussion about polyrhythm or something drab.
I just want to read my book. I’ll get told off if I actually do though, how strange is that. We’re constantly told to take up reading for leisure and pleasure, but not in lesson times. Not when polyrhythm is needing to be discussed. Oh well. Everything’s fine. Really properly fine.
At lunchtime I go to the city park so I can read my book and have a fag. I go alone, not because I am feeling antisocial but because I know that I won’t be great company- I’m not feeling reflective- not really- more so at one. This sounds so wanky, doesn’t it. It’s the weather- the weather helps. The March sunlight warms my back and the springtime mist makes everything look old, in a photograph: the winter branches silhouetted against the sapphire, kids playing tennis on the courts. It was non-uniform day, so my cigarette was completely paranoia-free, which makes a nice change. I usually accompany someone on my fag break who is determined to get us caught, by pacing up and down streets and the nervous stubbing out after every drag.
It astounds me also how so many things change over the day. When I was sitting in the park that afternoon, I couldn’t forsee that two hours later I’d be at the gym, running 10 minutes on a treadmill. I guess the fast pace of life is what we’re all running towards.