Friday, April 01, 2011

Strange and Stranger

There's nothing more surreal than sitting in the middle of a crowded sports bar by myself, sipping on a glass of mineral water, listening to Mark belting out numbers, his smile pained because despite having been a musician for all these years, he hates unfamiliar environments and unfamiliar crowds. Well maybe there is something more surreal. And that's me, taking my eyes off the cute musician trying really hard up there (the crowd's responding - half of them are stomping on the dance floor, for crying out loud) to read some more Pirsig. Somehow, the environment seems to suit the book to a t.

The weird thing is that although I know how weird it is (a woman who looks familiar saunters in with a friend. I keep catching her eye wondering where I know her from until I realise that she's the living image of Stiffler's Mum, bee-stung lips and all) but what's even weirder is how comfortable I feel.

Like it's not out of place.

Must be the water talking.

After one set (he keeps his sets short here) Mark comes off stage and I go over to him to poke him in the back and say, hey, I'm leaving. And he says, OK, see ya. And when I ask the waiter for the bill, I find my mineral water was on Mark (he would rather I had something more interesting, like tea).

It's nice slow ride home, my iPod playing the mellow numbers I love as I relax into the night, my favourite time of the day.

Back home to my sad little doggie who's been waiting for me. Arnold jumps up and down, and I nod. Yes, yes, I know.

It's time for a walk.

Except for one incident where a tiny Spitz comes yapping forward to attack, we complete our circuit unmolested. Now he's lying on the floor next to me and I'm trying to figure out whether I want to have a shower first, or shift some of the laundry off my bed.

And then I'll read myself to sleep.

My days are strange.

My nights are stranger.

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