Thursday, 11 April 1996 8:30pm
Sitting here, on a rainless night, thinking about nothing, as in not thinking nothing but thinking about nothing. I do this sometimes at work, or when I’m bored. Think of it. Nothing. No matter, so no space. No time. Hmmm. There’s no time. I guess time doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Time is only measurable in its effect I suppose. I’m making most of this up as I go along, so bear with me. But what really freaks me out is the idea of nothingness. The idea that there really is nothing. I can’t wrap my head around it. I dunno, I don’t think it really means anything, I guess it’s just one of those things you fill up your spare brain-time with. I’m gonna buy a new parker tomorrow.
Seems to be a rash of break-ups around me at the moment. Paige, at work – broke up with her man Matt over Easter. Scottish Lisa left her man about two months ago. Nadia (the one who left here about six weeks ago), she’s broken up with Brad, her man of three years. I knew straight away when I saw Nadia that something was up. She was wearing this really dark lipstick and mascara. Girls always either tart right up or slob right down after a break up. I suppose men do the same but lack the dramatic apparatus of make up and mini-skirts. And so to the meat of this sandwich. I’m thinking of breaking off a tentative alliance I’ve formed myself over these last two or three weeks. Her name’s Mia, but like I said, I’m thinking of breaking it off. It just doesn’t feel right, you know? Not enough in common perhaps. There are myriads of possible reasons for me wanting to abort the whole thing. Lord knows I’ve looked at it from enough angles, as is my wont. I’m not sure if it’s the lack of common interests, or if I hate spending the money that seeing someone entails. And I’m not talking about flowers and chocolates there, I’m not that shallow. I mean the money you have to spend because you suddenly acquire a life. Going out more, drinking more. Getting more taxis. Then there’s the re-arranging of your timetable. You know, the way you manage your time. I find that I run out of time to do things, ‘coz I’m used to having my whole weekend to take care of the domestic chores. Plus there’s the entirely new set of ways to embarrass yourself, the thing which I hate perhaps most in the world. There’s also the having to share yourself thing. Getting used to the fact that someone actually wants to know all that stuff about you. Then you get suspicious about
A note from S
The rest of this letter is missing. If I find it as I continue to put this all together I will update it.