“I Wish I was fucking blind the way you wave that stick around,” moans my twunt businessman of the day because, how terrible, he has to step an inch to the side to let me pass the street in the world that revolves around him. Like you are meant to for someone who CANT SEE YOU.
Another bag hits my injured shoulder, injured from repeatedly snagging a titanium stick on cracks in pavements, “waving” it around because that’s how you have to. I saw a blind trapeze performer doing a comedy song about cane pavement rage. Yeah the agony in my dominant arm and nightly dismissal or pity is a barrel of laughs.
Yeah that blind woman actually gets allowed to train in circus and not turned away because she can’t see which rope unites which trapeze.
But I’m told everyone at the circus ‘Values’ me. What this means falls empty on my scratching of understanding. I’m about as valuable as a broken wrist. Your beautiful women fly through the air and eat fire.
I crossed the road without some invisible person leading my by the arm (apparently blindness means you can’t be spoken to or verbally given directions and will shatter at any moment. How do you think blind people got to that street in the first place?)
Ta, bloody da…Look ma no hands.
Is this not literary enough? I went to study literature tonight, asked the front desk lady how I register my modules now I’ve saved 5k to write terrible essays and she just starts barking at me in a cheap accent so I can’t get a word in. Tried to ask a further question and she just snaps “listen to me” and carries on barking that it’s nothing to do with her. I leave while my mouth is still closed to my internal dialogue.
We learnt about biographies tonight: Gaskell, Charlotte Bronte and Orlando. Think my essay will be on post Darwinian fears in adaptations of Jekyll and Hyde…
Today’s unread blog was brought to you by the number 2, caffeine, lysine, ibuprofen and Mowtown…..
(It’s a Sesame Street reference. When I was little I always hoped and believed cities were like Sesame street)