Not Exactly A Rock Star

The pink cap hangs on the back of the door, from a hook (perhaps unsurprisingly). And hangers hang from their railing. And pants and shirts repose in positions of stiffness and formality, having been shaped into certain rigid attitudes, before being threaded with hangers. And coats hang too. And shoes sit on a shelf in a wardrobe.

And there are other features in the room.

There’s a computer (hardly surprising) whose keyboard my pink little fingertips are dancing rather uncertainly over, but there’s another computer and a silent monitor, looking vacant but still judging me, and there’s a printer as well.

And there’s a door and a floor and pictures on the wall, and writing this has made my back hurt.

News can be heard from the radio and light comes through the window. It’s 7pm. And I feel like going to bed.

Rock star – that’s what I am. I envy the old, rather too much, with their sleep, and the free pass they have been given to wear slippers and a dressing gown at all hours. I try to emulate them as much as I can, in that respect.

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Published in: on December 14, 2010 at 7:14 pm  Leave a Comment  

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