tales from an ordinary world

2002-10-14

"Buy me a ticket to a sonic reduction."
pere ubu.

Hit the morning squinting. The gap in the curtains wakes you an hour early, and it's Monday, it's time to get all those things done - no more of the slow Sunday-night anticipation build-up. Drifting in and out of Mr Sandman's land a few more times, the click followed by the fading-in radio-sound still comes as a minor shock when it finally arrives.

In the midst of all the chaos, you feel so inert.

When it's over, all over, there's your post at the end of the evening tram, the pole to lean against for a while as we pull through the inner suburbs - leaves and asphalt, traffic and trees. Headphone wearers or best-seller readers, loosened ties or comfortable white running shoes. Some of us just look out the window, at the world passing us by. There's no reaching out - look but don't touch. Hop off and wait for the connecting tram, somewhere in the midst of the burbling highway. A screech and a whine and it's stopping on the bend, waiting for you. Up the stairs and notice that face across the tram, the one from other, older mornings. After all your years in this one place, there are too many familiar faces, too many people you'll never know. Others would talk - a quick "hello" never hurt anybody - but it's different when you can feel the reasons to keep silent slowly filling up behind your eyeballs. You can hear them second-guessing your motives. You can hear them judging you. When you hop off the tram, you can hear the people in the carpark judging you, too. Feel their eyes as you navigate through the empty parking spots to get to the gate at the opposite corner - "what's he doing here ? this is my carpark !"

It's time to get on home.