Dearest Diary:
Hellish day at work. Started with sheer panic as I realized it was 10.30, and I was not yet out of bed. Moreover, to make things worse, I was still tired and also randy as a goat.
I'm very glad that SB and I never got around to our plan for yesterday, to get completely trashed, get naked, and decorate ourselves with text.
It was very sunny on the way down to the train station, so I put on my sunglasses (which are not prescription) for most of the journey. As I neared the square, for some magical reason, I felt I needed to put on my regular glasses. Crossed over towards the Store 24, in a rush, and was almost smashed open like a melon by a huge, sleek, black car. The which I promptly flipped off. I was in a rush, I was in a ferocious mood, and I was in a pedestrian crossing.
Very soon thereafter, I was being intimidated by a State Trooper, who took out his badge like it was a signifying phallus and berated me for daring to flip him off. (This was a hasty and unthinking gesture. Although, I'm proud to say, I would be far more likely to flip an authority figure off intentionally than any old random schmuck. I gained some small granule of comfort from this).
Somehow, I ended up apologising nervously and profusely while calmer Somervillites stared at the wreckage of my dignity. Had I been in full possession of my savoir-faire I might have pointed out that he looked to be very much in the wrong, considering that we were standing on what looked suspiciously like a zebra crossing.
Truth be told, though, I wasn't looking where I was going. Even though I was on a pedestrian crossing. So I suppose he oughtn't to be held too responsible.
But I could tell he was an asshole. Just the way he said he was a State Trooper and took out his wallet, just the way his mirrored wrap-around sunglasses glinted. Not to mention that he didn't exactly ask if I was okay. Considering I'd almost met the pavement in a very intimate manner.
I grabbed coffee (yes, shameful as it is, I wouldn't have been run over if I'd gone directly into the station instead of feeding my addictions) and ran to work. And basically didn't sit still for the first three hours. (Well, I did get to tell my story, and, as you could expect from my Progressive Law Firm, my colleagues mostly wanted to know whether or not I'd got his badge number.)
Work, work, work. Little to relate that would interest anybody except me.
Rushed out of work at 6 to grab dinner, long train ride south for a rehearsal at LI's house. Annoying and relaxing all at once: I really love playing music, I really love playing with these musicians, but somehow, the fact that I've been at work all day makes three hours of disorganized hacking through Telemann less serene and transcendant than I'd like.
Home, chores, make tomorrow's lunch, blah, blah, blah. And now I sit down to check my email, finally.
Today at work, listened to Gibbons consort music, Schedule 2 (a friend's band), Mozart piano concertos, Magnetic Fields. Played all evening, Telemann cantatas, the Trietto 2o, and the Bach b-minor flute sonata transposed for recorder. Listened to Smiths and Kraftwerk at night. Getting the urge to describe myself as the kind of person who makes out to Kraftwerk. (I have, and also to Rosenmueller and Monteverdi). Wondering if this is my romantic problem.
Delusions continue next page.
love,
alastair