Home is Where the Little Blue is

I’m hoping to have a day out today, paid for by the proceeds of the sale of a dead friend: I’m selling the reincarnated Little Blue MkI; the replacement tablet sent by the manufacturer who acted over and above the call of duty in sending a new tablet when they weren’t obliged to do so in the absence of proof of purchase and a serial number for the tablet I sent for repair.

So Little Blue MkI will be sold, then myself and Little Blue II will have a day out financed by the latter’s predecessor. I don’t know where we’ll go but it doesn’t matter, so long as there’s an internet connection. My life is within Little Blue II and life is passed through it wherever there’s wi-fi. So we’ll probably spend some time in McDonald’s or Wetherspoons. Wherever I lay my Little Blue, that’s my life and my home, provided there’s wi-fi.

Both venues are home from home. There are divisions between people and those very same divided and divisive people come to me when they should really talk to each other. All I want is to be left alone and not be the one seen to be substituting myself in others’ roles. It’s always been the case and continues to be that way wherever I go. One person comes to me because they find me the easiest to approach and to speak to. I then guide them to the person they should really be speaking to and that person resents me for taking their role. It’s not my fault that people choose to speak to me. Sometimes I just want to kill the divisiveness and bang the parties’ heads together, or at least sit them down together in the same place. Wallow in your own shit alone for too long and you will drown. One of my many pearls of wisdom which people don’t always like to hear but still they come to me.

All of the counselling makes me even more tired than I am already. I’m suffering badly from sleep deprivation at the moment and my pop-up clinics are causing me to sleep even less as I make others’ problems my own. But where to go to escape it?

A brief escape came this morning when the one I call The Wife paid me a visit: my little Clingy Thingy. She knew that I was upset, so she came round to give me the kind of hug that only she can. I shall probably not see her over the Christmas period but she left this morning with a memento: City of Angels; the film we refer to as “ours” because I’m her guardian Angel. She’s my little angel too. Love you little cakes.

Maybe me and Little Blue II will escape to the library today. The kind of people who come to me in McDonald’s and Wetherspoons don’t tend to fraternise the library. I don’t mind being everyone’s sponge but sometimes I just need a day off. Mine is a full-time job, without pay and sometimes it’s me that’s needy. So I need to escape. Assuming we find the solace we seek, I’ll continue and maybe finish the third installment in the Paradox series of short stories: The Paradox of The Fourth Dimension.

Talking of time travel (which is part of the subject of the third Paradox tale), or more specifically travels in space over vast distances, I took one of my patients aboard Ghost Bird last night. Those who pay attention will know that Ghost Bird is the ship I board at night to travel the unconscious universe. It’s a sleep aid; a coping mechanism; a space ship and the transport means to other worlds. Every planet has an escape velocity, which is the speed which needs to be attained to escape that planet’s atmosphere. Ghost Bird is my means of escaping an atmosphere: via sleep. Except some atmospheres are so thick that they prevent escape and therefore sleep. Hence my potentially dangerous levels of tiredness today. I’m only grateful that unlike yesterday, I’m not working in a kitchen today.

I’m tired and therefore I’m dangerous. I pity the next person who asks me if I’m ready for Christmas or looking forward to it. No I am fucking not. I’m ready for a completely miserable couple of weeks with little to do and few places to go. I’ve made sure I’m busy on Christmas day itself by helping out with a church dinner for the disadvantaged. I don’t want to encroach on anyone’s family Christmas and am not invited to my own. It’s been a year since I was put out on the road and little has happened concerning advancement, so I can be forgiven for feeling more than a little low. I should perhaps be grateful that there is no public transport on Christmas Day as that fact will save my life because there’ll be no trains to play with. 

I’m off now to sell Little Blue MkI. Perhaps I’ll buy a train ticket and travel somewhere to escape.

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