Colour Diary - Purple

Purple
Purple is the colour of the jumper I bought today and the colour of my hands that have no purpose and keep reaching into my wallet to pull out money that I don’t really have. I should work more or everything should be cheaper. Inflation would be great if I could be isolated from its effects and that my money would still be worth a lot. Don’t know how it would work, but it’s an idea. A more plausible and feasible option is to take on more shifts and stop spending money. I wish I could have a vault of money that I could dive of a diving board into and swim in. I don’t think that it will be a very nice swim but its eccentric and rich people can afford to be a bit odd.

Colour Diary - Pale Yellow

Pale yellow.
Pale yellow is the colour I am today. Pale yellow like the colour of the stationary paper I use to write my dreams onto. The dreams and goals I have for my life that may not be accomplished but I have written them down so that’s a start and also pale yellow makes it more official. If none of the dreams work out I have decided that I will start going to the computer-hang-out-shop place that doesn’t really have a name but is clearly a place for mostly boys to hang out and play video games together. I don’t like video games because I don’t know how to play them but that’s were I’ll go if my plans fail because everybody seems so happy there and accepted. I wonder if they would mind if I didn’t play video games and I just talked to them, maybe not when there playing because I heard that takes concentration but maybe after, when they have finished.

Colour Diary - Coffee Brown

Brown
Today I am brown again, but brown like the coffee in my cup. Brown like the coffee in the coffee container at work that has no spoons in it so you have to scoop the coffee out with your cup and you usually get to much coffee and when you try to scoop up the sugar you usually spill coffee grains in the sugar container and you try to pick it out but cant get all the little pieces so you shake the container so the coffee granules mix together with the sugar and nobody will know any better. That’s the colour I am today because I did have a cup of coffee today and it didn’t taste very nice. I think we should get spoons at work.

La Cherries

The last drops of rain had only started to fall when the pedestrian had rushed into the small cove that the tired red awning outside of La Cherries offered. The establishment was not one that the pedestrian would usually enter into and it was rare for him to be in the vicinity of the bawdy house or even in this area but something in particular had called him into the neighbourhood that had to be paid attention to most immediately. He would have to wait til the rain to abate though because it would be unacceptable for him to arrive at his destination looking like a wet and bedraggled dog, first impressions were so important. As he lingered under the awning another man also approached his position and rather than using the cove for a place to seek dryness used the door instead, another valued customer of La Cherries. The pedestrian glanced sideways at the man and in return for his curiosity received a snippet of view of the inside of the building through the already closing door. Before it fully closed though he heard a catcall from one of the girls beckoning him inside, he hesitated and considered the proposition. Thankfully though the rain was ceasing and before anybody inside could come out to him and repeat the request he darted off into the street. He needed to be somewhere, people were waiting for him. Perhaps it was best that he had not gone inside for if he had taken of his great big black coat and revealed the costume that layered itself around his body they may have received a shock. It was as black night and ran longer than the coat did, only to stop and expose some bright shiny shoes. At the top of this strange costume that swathed itself all the way to his neck was a strip of white that covered only a few inches of cloth but meant so much more. Perhaps he would return though. La Cherries could be quite warm on these cold days. So very warm.

Colour Diary - Orange

Orange
Orange is the colour of the working man’s vest on the road outside my house and orange is the colour of hearing because I am tired of noises and wish that I was deaf. If I was deaf all of my other senses would be really powerful. I would be able to smell all the things people usually miss. Maybe I could get a job working at a restaurant smelling food. Like a food critic but I would only taste the food with my nose.

Colour Diary - Blue

Blue
Blue is the colour of the sign outside Officeworks and blue is the colour of my imagination. Im blue because blue is the colour that Jazz players are when they sing songs. My mum rang and I was reminded that I have a family and that I have to keep in contact with. If I could sing I would sing about being lonesome and annoyed.

Colour Diary - Brown

Brown.
Brown is the colour of my hair and the colour of my heart today. Today it’s brown because nothing much happened today. I slept in til late which always makes me feel rank and then I went to work. Brown is definitely the colour of boring. B (brown) + B (boring) = today and me. It’s not so much as my heart being brown but more that my soul has definitely got a brownish tinge to it. Brown is what I think of and what I speak and it covers my eyes so that all I see is the horrid poo brown.

A Job

“What do you think are your strengths?”
“my strengths” I say to buy some time “well my strengths are… my strengths are fortitude” I don’t really know what this means but I think it sounds smart and also something that would be good to have as a strength. Superman has probably got fortitude written on his CV under strengths and under goals he probably has saving the world. If superman was applying for a job he might not be hired because he would come under the category of over-qualified. You need to be a shit eater if you really want a job and it is doubtful if Superman is a shit eater. I think about telling her that I am a shit eater but I don’t think she appreciates honesty like that and swearing in an interview doesn’t come across to well unless you say “hell yeah!” to something and that’s excused because of your apparent enthusiasm. Hell isn’t really a swear anyway.

She asks “when is a time that you have shown leadership?”
I think about this for a bit or I look like I am but really I think about not wanting this job and how if I worked here I would have to work with her and I am not sure I can deal with that. She has a horrible mauve coloured top on and her hair is short and blonde and she looks butch and is really quite fat, obese even. She looks like she takes her job much too seriously. I somehow give her an answer and finish the interview soon after. As I walk out the office building I hope that I don’t get the job.

I do need the money though, fuck I hope I get the job.

I go home and go to sleep even though its only 3 in the afternoon. Its 3 in the afternoon and I don’t really want to think about anything so I go to sleep and instead I dream.

Dreaming is so much nicer than thinking because it doesn’t take as much effort. My mum rings about 7, it wakes me up and I feel so lazy that I don’t answer the phone. I ring her back after about 20 minutes of just lying in bed. I don’t know what she wants but I know it’s not just a phone call to ask if I’m ok, because my mum isn’t one of the types of mums who does that. She only rings if she wants something. I call her and she tells me that my sister and her partner are going to dinner at her house and “if you want you should come over” her voice heavy with emotional blackmail. I’m pretty sure I’ll regret not going later so I say yes, Ill be over in an hour.

It felt wrong to be getting out of bed then so I closed my eyes again. I started to remember the dream I was having I can’t remember it now but it was comforting for me to be able to recall it then. It was like making a mould of your own hand and putting your hand back into the mould every now and then. That at least there is one place that you fit in so perfectly.

I wake up after another 40 minutes and guiltily got out of bed and went to Mum and Dad’s house. We had to wait for an hour or so for dinner to cook so I suggested we play Cluedo. I don’t think I should have because it became competitive, I didn’t think Cluedo was a very competitive game. Dinner was nice and then I went home.

The next day the woman from the job called to tell me I got the job. I am a shit eater after all. And fortitude will be needed the day after next.

A Love Story

A cough behind her alerted her to her surroundings at the cafe and the book she was reading ceased to be so engrossing.
She turned around to see a man, a slight man staring at her from the table next to hers. She smiled and turned back to her book but the coughing started up again and she indignantly turned around again. She raised her eyebrow in question and he smiled back at her, an awkward pause ensued and she was about to turn back again when he opened his mouth and said, “perhaps I could sit with you?”
Perhaps he could but it wasn’t often that she got attention from the opposite sex and she opened her mouth in shock and said nothing. Taking her silence for acquiescence he picked up his back pack and came to sit opposite her at her table. He smiled awkwardly and placed his cup and saucer nervously on the table.
Now that he had finally sat himself in front of her, she didn’t know what was to happen.
“What are you reading?” he said as a way to start some dialogue.
As reply she placed the book in front of him and expected him to comment on the book but he said nothing. Maybe it wasn’t his type of book.
She pulled the book back in front of her and placed her hands over it. He coughed nervously again like before and cast a furtive look out at the street and the occupants of that space. Finally she felt the embarrassment of little to no talk to hard to bear that she said
“Do you come here often?”
“ah, she speaks” he laughed feebly at his own attempt at joviality and seeing no signal from her of humour he straightened his face and said “no not often. I’ve been visiting the cafes in each area and trying to decide who really does have the best coffee. I don’t really like coffee, it leaves a funny taste in my mouth but it seems to be quite popular with people and I thought if I tried coffee from different places I might be able to understand the enjoyment people have with it…” he petered out, like somebody who thinks that they’re the only one whose interested in the subject. He lifted his hand to his mouth and coughed again. It wasn’t really a cough; it was more of a throat clearing, with a wet sound of mucous at the back of the mouth.
Silence. A car drives past and they both look up to watch it go by.
“I like tea.” She said.
He nodded and said “Tea is by far the superior drink.”
This last comment seemed to make the most impact of all because she smiled and looked at him appreciatively. This also spurred the conversation further onto who they each thought drank tea or coffee in the café, the street and finally moved onto political leaders. They both agreed that most of the world’s tyrants were coffee drinkers, but disagreed on Hitler’s drink of choice. She seemed to think that he was a tea drinker because he was a tee-totaller and coffee would probably be included in the list of contraband for a tee-totaller. He said that Hitler did drink coffee because he needed the energy to be so ruthless. After much discussion, some of it quite heated and drew attention from people around them (considering that the name Hitler was thrown about quite loudly), they finally agreed that maybe he was a sometimes coffee drinker, but neither seemed happy with this conclusion.
By whatever means they managed to arrange to meet again at the same place the next day and parted ways by nervously shaking hands. She noticed that’s his hands were cold and clammy, she thought this was something to note as it might say something about his character. She didn’t know what though, except that maybe he needed to wash his hands and heat them in front of the fire.

The Hairdresser

Karen has the worst haircut out of all her friends. Karen has potentially the worst haircut in the whole world. Her haircut is so bad she can’t even wear a hat with it, because then it would look like she is trying to cover something up and she isn’t that secretive, that sly, not really.
Her haircut has bald patches and short bits and long bits. She acquired this particular haircut when in a moment of distress of the monotony of life she seized the scissors and let her hand loose on her hair.
Karen has the worst haircut out of all her friends because Karen is silly but Karen is also a liar.
She is a liar because she tells people that she went to a hairdresser for this cut. The hairdresser said to Karen that she would look good like this and pulled her hair away from the sides of her face and flopped it in front of her eyes. The hairdresser took Karen’s hair and said, darling with long drawn out aaahhhs and looked bored and pretty all at once. The hairdresser said “daahling, you would look fabulous like this” and flamboyantly threw her hair around.
Karen tells everyone she said yes to the terrible haircut because she was taken with the aura of the shop and the smell of dye and bleach in the air. She said yes because wanted to be as equally charismatic and bored as the hairdresser.
She said yes because she wanted to throw her hands in the air and go crazy with wild intent and have crazy wild hair that went with her new character. Karen said yes because her hair was mousy brown but she felt always meant to be red, fiery red that connoted the character of the most craziest of characters, the craziest character of characters. She sighed a sigh of contentment and said yes, yes please, you have so captured the essence of me, make me what you want me to be. When she said “me to be” she said that slowly and drew out each sound so that it was more important and the hairdresser would know what an important occasion this was. So very important for this character of characters.
The hairdresser nodded with solemn intent and seemed to understand what this meant, and like a high priestess she ceremoniously held the scissors above her head before she plunged to cut the first cut. “That disastrous cut” as Karen says.
Karen told this lie so that no one would know that she wanted to be someone else and that her hair was her character personified, spoken loudly through a loudspeaker. That what it told everyone was that she was boring and dull and mousy brown. She told this lie because she wished it was true. She told everyone loudly that hairdressers were good for nothing, that they knew less than nothing. She denounced the hairdressing occupation as a whole to save face and look like she was taken in by the lie as opposed to a perpetrator of the lie.
Karen is a liar and a bit sly. Karen has the worst haircut out of all her friends, Karen has potentially the worst haircut in the whole world.