Daily missive for Wednesday the 15th of September.

‘Do you know why you write?’

A face slowly came into focus

It had been there

In front of mine for quite some time

I knew that from the look

Of concern in her eyes,

Big, green, quite attractive actually,

As if she had spoken several times

Without me reacting

Other than to keep staring

At the wall behind the bar

At a point just below the optics

But above the mirror

To avoid my reflection

And hers obviously

The pen lay still

Across the open page

Of my journal,

Leather bound of course,

The few lines that were legible

Scribbled out

Overwritten and scribbled out again

A doodle on the other page

Cross Hatching, the old guy

In the corner, partly consumed

By shadow

‘He looks like the grim reaper’

She said looking at the page

Then back up to me

Smiling

‘Don’t say it’s because you have to.’

I didn’t react

What was left to say

I didn’t know

‘Perhaps that guy is waiting

For you.’

She thought that was funny

But to me it was sad

Because I had thought the same thing

It is what kept me there

I wondered if she was trying to pick me up

She would have better luck

With the grim reaper

‘I don’t know why I write

It seems like something needs

To be said’

‘And you have to say it?’

‘Perhaps ...I guess...who knows’

‘So what’s the point?

‘Yes...a good question

Perhaps it’s sublimation…’

I think that might have scared her a little

‘No don’t worry...I’m not trying

To fight the urge to commit murder

Or something

But maybe it diverts the anger

And stops me from getting all

Bent out of shape’

‘What do you feel so angry about?’

How could I answer that question

When the truth is I am angry

About everything

I feel too raw, too easily torn

My broken ends are left ragged. Nerves shredded

Is that normal?

What has happened to me

That hasn’t happened

To almost everybody else

‘Do you ever think life is a mistake?

An accident of poor design

A bad joke with a lousy punchline

Where the undeserving pocket

The fruits of success

Hold on to the levers of power

Whilst the decent people

The ones who care enough

To bleed

Always pay the price?’

‘I guess’

“Well maybe that’s why I write

Or maybe it‘s because

I am as much a narcissist

As the next asshole with an ego.’

She smiled

And tipped a wink

‘I don’t think that’s true”

I scowled and took another drink

I know my priorities.