Brenda’s Unfortunate Record #23


^^Robert Calvert – 'Ned Ludd'^^

My friend says hangovers are like a pitstop for overachievers which is making me feel better. It’s 8pm. Today I’ve managed to go to the shops, remove a new pedal from it’s box & write a grand total of 3 sentences before having to lie back down for a snooze. I’m still yawning and a night on the settee would be in full-swing if I didn’t have to rattle this off first. 

I’m kind of exaggerating. I also walked all the way up Stoke Newington to purchase a new cat box. We had to take Rudi to the vet this afternoon. Seems whilst I was out part-ay-ing, our wee man was having it large too. Got home last night to find him limping. As it turns out, he’s suffered some soft-tissue damage in his shoulder. Busted out a bad move? Slipped on the dance-floor? Stretched himself that bit too far? Fuck knows, but damn was he ever an unhappy pusskin this morning. Hissed and all, which is totally out of character. I started to cry cause I thought he might die. Such a worrier. If the cat’s poorly, it’s some terminal cancer. If a friend’s late, they’ve come off their bike and are lying under the wheels of a semi. If the flight’s delayed, there’s been an engine malfunction and it’s plummeting out of the sky. Etc etc etc … again I’m exaggerating. Kind of.

So what of this day? Aside from feline drama, fuzzy-fuzzy head and fatigue, the big news is I received a letter. Yes, 10 pages, typed out on the 25th of February, stuck in an envelop and sent half-way around the world. I haven’t had anything like that plop through the mail-slot in awhile. A total joy it was to open. It’s easy to take instant communication for granted, but reading through almost felt like delving into a mini time-capsule. A thick package of real-life thoughts formed in once-was-real-time, a voice from the not-so-distant-yet-still-in-the past. This might of been compounded by the reference to a future event which has now occurred; the birth of an idea I’ve seen come to fruition, grace a la social media. All somewhat ironic, given I received these pages as a result of the author’s since-November boycott of the computer.

‘I really dislike e-mail and faceless book. I want action. I want a plan that might work. I do not want another opinion my own in particular’

You can't argue with that, can you?

I too used to be a letter writer. Stole the line about it ‘being a far more palatable form of communication than the bloody telephone’ when I was thirteen. I had lots of correspondents. See above, and then there was Jesse, Hailey, Claire, Asia, hoards of Japanese pen-pals, Pierre, Orion, Gill from NYC, and and and … I met the latter on a train & would fabricate elaborate fantasies about my grown-up life whilst sat in my mum’s basement, moaning about imaginary flatmates. I doubt Gill’s hung on to any of these musings but Hailey will occasionally dip into the archives and what’s app some funny photos. When I moved to France we had our own laborious, medieval looking font. It would take ages to scroll out a page, a concept I find strangely appealing as I’m stood here typing. You can be sure you’ve got time to formulate your thoughts, right?

I’m gonna answer the letter tomorrow and even though the sender has promised to be back online by the end of the month, I quite like the idea of going back to our old ways on a more permanent basis, even if it means forking out for the price of the stamp, sacrificing a few more trees and forgoing immediacy. Everything else is near-instant, right? It’s not just the romantic concept of air-mail, the physical object or the anticipation I find alluring, but the idea of moving one’s thoughts through space and time that little bit slower. I can’t work out if that’s the Luddite in me or if I’m tapping into something way more profound. Lol. That’ll be the hangover speaking. Time to take the reins, Mr Calvert. Guide me through these flashes of semi-formulated thought.

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