Today / Aujourd'hui
I walk. I walk some more. In front of every shop I stop.
I take a few magazines from the trolley, bring them in. Ding Dong.
"Hello, can I leave a few of these free magazines here?"
I get a yes or a no, most often a yeah ok that is really in the middle. Something meaning "you look like a nice person so we don't want to disappoint you so we'll take them" or "we'll put it in the bin as soon as you have turned your back."
I don't care. I only listen to the official message anymore. I don't try and guess what they really mean. Not after three hours.
The trolley is slightly too small, so I have to bend my back to pull it with all the magazines on top, otherwise it just sits up abruptly and vomits the top of the pile of magazines on the pavement.
Not good. The more I walk, the more my back aches. Yet strangely I feel a strange elation doing this job. I enjoy smiling to every shop owner as I say hello and ask THE question. I always thank them and wish them a good day, whether they took the magazines or not.
It takes hours. Walking, pulling, opening doors, asking, closing doors, pulling and walking again. From one end of the city to the other end. I get home and my back hurts, my feet hurt, my legs hurt, my head is empty and I just want to sleep.
Happy it's done and won't have to be done for another three months.
Je rentre. Il n'est pas si tard mais mon corps est épuisé, en demande d'une deuxième douche de la journée.
L'écriture me hante et ne sort pas. Je regarde Dexter. Je m'y laisse prendre.
Je voulais me coucher tôt et il est déjà minuit et j'ai l'impression que la journée m'est passé sous le nez. La semaine en fait. Tout est passé si vite. Pas le temps d'écrire, pas le temps de réfléchir, pas le temps d'être. Mais où est passé cette semaine? J'ai l'impression d'être comme un pitbull qui a mordu quelquechose. Je ne lâche pas. Je ne veux pas lâcher. Pas avant d'avoir extrait tout le jus de ce que je mors. Mais en ce moment j'ai l'impression d'avoir la machoire bloquée. Je ne peux pas lâcher ce que je tiens, mais je n'arrive pas à mordre plus fort donc je n'en sors rien du tout.
Bon, ce sera mieux demain...
I take a few magazines from the trolley, bring them in. Ding Dong.
"Hello, can I leave a few of these free magazines here?"
I get a yes or a no, most often a yeah ok that is really in the middle. Something meaning "you look like a nice person so we don't want to disappoint you so we'll take them" or "we'll put it in the bin as soon as you have turned your back."
I don't care. I only listen to the official message anymore. I don't try and guess what they really mean. Not after three hours.
The trolley is slightly too small, so I have to bend my back to pull it with all the magazines on top, otherwise it just sits up abruptly and vomits the top of the pile of magazines on the pavement.
Not good. The more I walk, the more my back aches. Yet strangely I feel a strange elation doing this job. I enjoy smiling to every shop owner as I say hello and ask THE question. I always thank them and wish them a good day, whether they took the magazines or not.
It takes hours. Walking, pulling, opening doors, asking, closing doors, pulling and walking again. From one end of the city to the other end. I get home and my back hurts, my feet hurt, my legs hurt, my head is empty and I just want to sleep.
Happy it's done and won't have to be done for another three months.
Je rentre. Il n'est pas si tard mais mon corps est épuisé, en demande d'une deuxième douche de la journée.
L'écriture me hante et ne sort pas. Je regarde Dexter. Je m'y laisse prendre.
Je voulais me coucher tôt et il est déjà minuit et j'ai l'impression que la journée m'est passé sous le nez. La semaine en fait. Tout est passé si vite. Pas le temps d'écrire, pas le temps de réfléchir, pas le temps d'être. Mais où est passé cette semaine? J'ai l'impression d'être comme un pitbull qui a mordu quelquechose. Je ne lâche pas. Je ne veux pas lâcher. Pas avant d'avoir extrait tout le jus de ce que je mors. Mais en ce moment j'ai l'impression d'avoir la machoire bloquée. Je ne peux pas lâcher ce que je tiens, mais je n'arrive pas à mordre plus fort donc je n'en sors rien du tout.
Bon, ce sera mieux demain...