The lock up

There’s something to be said for living in blissful ignorance, which is one of my default states, along with irate. Not only am I oblivious to people the vast majority of the time, which has obvious benefits, most notably I don’t have to interact with 99% of the population. This suits me fine, although will probably lead to me being stabbed if I ever move to a major city.

However, problems arrive when it comes to working in the real world. Not in terms of day to day work. My caffeine habit ensures that I’ll alert, possibly more than is good for me.

No, this is in terms of saying yes without actually realising what I’m saying yes to. I blame it on ex-girlfriends. You hit a point where yes because the default answer to save time, knowing the affirmative answer will save less hassle in the long-term, even if it means curtain shops before bedtime.

On this particular occasion, the question was: “Do you want to do the August 26th shift.” Answer, without thinking: yes.

Not to self: check calendar before you agree to a date. Ok, so the chances are you’ll probably be spending the evening down the pub [1]through lack of options, but at least goddam check what the hell that day is [2]

So, while I’m getting up at the crack o’doom to work, here’s what various housemates are doing:

1. Housemate number one is in Spain. Ok, so they’re sorting out selling their house. But it’s still Spain. If I didn’t dislike planes so much, I may like to visit the place at some point.

2. Housemate number two. In London, at a wedding. I think. I’m not so convinced I’d like this. Weddings scare me almost as much as Linda Barker. But at least it isn’t working at the crack o’doom.

3. Housemate number three. In Rome. Possibly. I’ve not heard from him for a while. He’s probably married into a mafia family by accident or got eaten by wolves by now. Either way, if he doesn’t turn up by Wednesday, I’ll start hawking around his room to rent, and sell his possessions on ebay. If he’s alive, he’ll thank me for this in the long term.

Me. Working. Early. Working. Monday. Ok, the latter is of my own volition. It’s still work on a sunny bank holiday.

But this post isn’t so much a complaint about having to work, even if I would like to take issue with my own oblivious, and point out if anybody wants to remove my brain for scientific experiment before I expire in the name of research, feel free. It’ll only improve me.

No, what I’m really confused about is my habit of locking the bathroom door, despite knowing the house is empty. I know nobody’s around. They know they’re not going to walk in on me as they’re nowhere near said room. So why do I persist with the bolt? It’s not as if it makes the process go any fast.

Perhaps I fear the SAS breaking down my door searching for… well, a few burned CDs in my case. But breaking down the door nonetheless, spotting my actions and having a damn good laugh. Perhaps a troupe of morris dancers will use my house as a dancing route during their finale dance, pause, and laugh at the size of my member.

Perhaps I’m just terrified there’s a really hot poltergeist haunting my downstairs and if I offend her by not locking the door, and not washing my hands, she’ll react badly and smash that nice and expensive bottle of wine I’ve been saving for a special occasion.

There’s still no explanation for it though. Maybe if I get diagnosed with OCD, it may get me off working bank holidays on the future?

[1] The Winchester. Simon Pegg fans will understand. 

[2] I swear you could ask me: “You ok to worth December 25th” and I’d blissfully say yes until the week before I’d realise that we’re approaching Christmas. Truly, to work in an office with me is a unique experience. Not least that I also use swear words for punctuation in everyday speech. 


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August 2007

Throw letters together and send them to me

Yes, this is my name. And my email. Use it wisely or you're not getting a biscuit with your tea: garyllewellynandrews [at] gmail [dot] com

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