The Fireball

I smiled the other day. When Kerouac was in London on Baker Street, he literally went searching for Sherlock Holmes’ address…I think this is what happens if you lose your mind in fiction. Writers are such wishful escapists.
This is by far my favourite book of his. The way he talks about his mother made me cry. He and I feel the same about our mothers, except that he treated his better than I treat mine. I just don’t know how to show appreciation. Whenever I try, it ends up being an utter disappointment for me and the entire effort becomes worthless.

I try to avoid people, but due to work I seem to bump into endless people from the past who want to catch up. I’m not up for that. This little town is driving me crazy. Everyone in town centre seems to know where I work nowadays! The bottle/can collectors have started to greet me at the train station these days. I wish no one would know me by my face.

Last weekend somebody came into my work. I recognized him on the spot. I don’t think I’d ever forget that rough face and full lips (yuk!). It was the first guy I ever tongue-kissed. He must be about thirty three now. He was twenty four when we first kissed. Ah! Terrible memories! Thank God he didn’t buy anything, because otherwise I would’ve gone hiding in the staff room. From the other end of the shop he gave me one quick glance and I immediately knew: He remembers me. Shit.
After having served several other customers, I noticed that he had gone already. Exhale. The past is so evil. I am a very nostalgic person, but it doesn’t change the fact that the past is evil; no matter whether it was good or bad.

It was freaky last Tuesday, as I had a déjà-vu. At work a lady asked me for the time and I said “quarter to three.” The same thing happened to me the day after on Wednesday. A lady asked me the same thing at the exact same time. Quarter to three has become a spooky thing. It reminds me of the way my driving instructor wanted me to drive. “Keep your hands on the wheel at quarter to three. It seems to be the only way for you to remain on the street!”

Sometimes I feel like a total arsehole. (I know you are agreeing.) I see old friends in the shopping centre and I would not go up to them to say hi, even though I know they would have loved me to. Good thing is that I always see them first, instead of them seeing me. So there he was with someone who looked like his girlfriend or something. I definitely wouldn’t walk up to an old friend who’s walking with his girlfriend, especially if I don’t know her and she doesn’t know me. She would only end up scrutinizing me, pulling a forced smile thinking “Who the fuck is she?” This happened twice this week. I don’t feel particularly welcome in their presence anymore. But it’s a little bit difficult to hide your face if you happen to serve old friends on the till. Old friends, past friends or acquaintances…whatever…they all make me think of the past and the way I used to be – I don’t like it. All they know is the old me.

I saw the yellow core in my body again. This time it was like a fireball; it hit me right in my mind just before I fell asleep. On the day after I heard about the asteroid Apophis, and I nearly shat my pants. I am scared of self-fulfilling prophesies. You seriously are not aware of these sometimes. Maybe I should quit reading the weekly horoscope. I don’t believe in it, but I find it amusing. Asteroids, on the other hand, are not amusing. Why am I getting paranoid about something which will happen in nineteen years?

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