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It's Only Summer Time
Jun. 30th, 2006 07:23 pmA week from today will mark a year since the attacks on London's trains. I wasn't really thinking about this today but, as I left work, feeling happy and content, I suddenly had a very morbid fantasy play out in my head. I saw the train I was in explode, my body get ripped to pieces. I then saw the repercussion play out: my co-workers finding out that the Bakerloo Tube was hit (and someone remembering that I took that line), the concern, the calls, the news reaching Kevin, the news spreading through out my building.
Did you know him? Do you remember him? I vaguely remember his face. I think I saw him walk down the corridors, but I'm not sure. I never spoke to him. Was he from Brasil? He didn't look it. How is his department doing? They cried. They were really upset. They had just given him a jar of olives and 22 pounds worth of book vouchers because it was his last day in the department. They ate cake and drank wine. They were so happy that day. What a horrible thing to happen.
I have morbid thoughts sometimes. Flights. Train rides. Car rides with drunks behind the wheel. I don't know if it's perverse to imagine a smiling face you just said goodbye cry for you. I think my ego is trying to find some recognition that I'll be missed, that I'm not just a dispensabletemp human, that I finally fit in.
But today, regardless of this slight morbid fantasy, has been wonderful. I got a bankdraft to put down for the new apartment (we sign the lease tomorrow); it was someone's birthday at work (and on LJ) and I ate lemon cake and drank red wine (which I also spilled on the floor, causing everyone to cry out that I can't be taken out); London was awash with sunshine and the tourists weren't too bad; I found a bench facing the Thames during my lunch break and edited a short story; went swimming in the morning, wore shorts and t-shirt to work. Now I listen to Saint Etienne and my mood is orgasmic... and Kevin just walked into the bedroom with a plate of pasta!
I bought four cans of beer and I'm watching a great Big Brother episode (I hope.) Seriously, life is good right now.
Did you know him? Do you remember him? I vaguely remember his face. I think I saw him walk down the corridors, but I'm not sure. I never spoke to him. Was he from Brasil? He didn't look it. How is his department doing? They cried. They were really upset. They had just given him a jar of olives and 22 pounds worth of book vouchers because it was his last day in the department. They ate cake and drank wine. They were so happy that day. What a horrible thing to happen.
I have morbid thoughts sometimes. Flights. Train rides. Car rides with drunks behind the wheel. I don't know if it's perverse to imagine a smiling face you just said goodbye cry for you. I think my ego is trying to find some recognition that I'll be missed, that I'm not just a dispensable
But today, regardless of this slight morbid fantasy, has been wonderful. I got a bankdraft to put down for the new apartment (we sign the lease tomorrow); it was someone's birthday at work (and on LJ) and I ate lemon cake and drank red wine (which I also spilled on the floor, causing everyone to cry out that I can't be taken out); London was awash with sunshine and the tourists weren't too bad; I found a bench facing the Thames during my lunch break and edited a short story; went swimming in the morning, wore shorts and t-shirt to work. Now I listen to Saint Etienne and my mood is orgasmic... and Kevin just walked into the bedroom with a plate of pasta!
I bought four cans of beer and I'm watching a great Big Brother episode (I hope.) Seriously, life is good right now.
