Is that what they call a mange à trois?

I’m on holiday! I think. I’m having trouble figuring out how to do this holiday thing properly. I woke up before my alarm would’ve gone off at 8am and couldn’t get back to sleep. I was too preoccupied with how to do holiday type things with my day off. So I got up and read. I finished my book and fed the cat, then fretted over how to relax. I paced for a little bit, before realising that I could just get up and go for a run. It was a nice way to get out of the house and look at things with an added slight motion blur. I saw what looked like a 20th century segway tied up to a post. It had collapsible leather handlebars and looked more grunty than I’d expect a motorised pedestal to be. I saw a number of other joggers coming the opposite way. Across the board they looked aggrieved, foreheads well creased. They had fancy running gear and mp3 player armbands. Seriously, all five of them. I wondered if I’d missed the memo. I was just enjoying listening to “An Awesome Wave” for the first time in years.

Davenport Road was choked up with traffic and the fact that I was moving at my own pace really settled in the notion that on any other day I would’ve been at work. I ran up the stairs to Castle Loma and almost collapsed in a sweaty pile. Walking it out to catch my breath, I realised that my legs were a little sore from correcting poor form. I walked it out some more then eased back into it. I saw an old couple walking hand in hand, stopping to say hi to a friend of theirs. A guy got off a bus with three French sticks and I wondered just how much garlic bread one man really needs. The sun was blazing and I gave a silent thanks for the shitty white promotional Rdio glasses I’d picked up from work. Walking in the front door felt like entering a cave. There was a cool wind blowing and everything seemed pitch black. The contrast between outdoor radiance and subdued interior was staggering. I staggered around a little as if blind and stumbled into my bedroom. My vision slowly ebbed back in and I rushed to remove everything clammy and sweaty.

Reading about Brexit was disheartening. Seeing the disparity between old and young voting habits even moreso. I don’t know what mix of blind nostalgia, nationalism/xenophobia and shortsightedness caused older generations to disregard progress made since joining the EU, but I guess the younger generation is stuck with the fallout. In solidarity with all the heartbroken citizens of Great Britain that voted against Brexit, my girlfriend and I had beans on toast. It was fucking delicious.

And now I’m easing into the swing of this holiday thing. We’re off to Waterloo to attend some mysterious railway themed art party called Steel Rails. We know there’s a party, but not its location. We know that in previous years it’s literally been on a train, but this year they’re taking things in a different direction. We know that booze is purchasable by donation (which probably means small donation, big tips) and that one of our friends has a bottle of Manischewitz ready for pre-drinking. We know that we’ve rented a place with a whirlpool tub, so it’s gonna be a fun night no matter what.

Is this how relaxing works? Quick, I need three French sticks, stat.


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