Because that's exactly what I need right now.
The Nothing Man's hit this ARSE of a city on the head again (metaphorically).
Overnight: A light snowfall.
This morning: A picturesque carpet of white on the streets, on rooftops, on clocktowers.
The result: A complete fucking shutdown of the city's transportation system and sudden erosion of basic law and order and of society's rules. All tube lines seriously delayed due to "Adverse weather conditions." Roads gridlocked. Men in suits have knife-fights. Mothers shoot dead passers by in an attempt to get their children to school on time.
I didn't cycle. I walked to my nearest tube and got a mere two stops down (with long pauses at each station). My boss phoned as the tube was stationary at Hammersmith station and advised me to leave the District Line immediately so I ran off, zapped myself through the turnstiles, and jog over the road to the Hammersmith & City line where I rewarded those ineffectual cunts at Transport for London by paying for this single journey into town twice. And for this, a further wait announced by a bored, disembodied voice emanating from a crackly loudspeaker, that most trains have been cancelled due to an overnight inch of now melting snow that caught everyone running the network completely by surprise this midwinter.
I eventually traipse into work half an hour late. This is worse than it sounds as my workplace is less a company and more a small gathering. Only my boss and I have keys. I'm frequently first to arrive as I cycle, so I'm normally there to let our third (perpetually morose) colleague in at 9am. With my boss in meetings this morning, I'm now the only person who can open up, and operate the computer to invoice customers.
So in summary, my being late for half an hour with a boss who isn't coming in til later means: We're Not Trading.
So that was a good start to the day.
Fast Forward nine hours and several fucktard cuntstomers later. I reluctantly force myself to attend Martial Arts. I am tired and totally supine. There is no fight in me. Even during our kickathon where I sweat a gallon (sadly in commando - today was the first time ever I did my kickshitting course without cycling, thus I forgot to bring a second pair of undergarments), things felt flat. Granted, I got a good workout, and was even forced into an improptu grading which I completed successfully and had better not be expected to pay £25 for (It was tacked on at the end of the session as an after-thought for me and three others, for a never-before-mentioned white belt and not the official first yellow one.)
So I wash and tube it home. The evening papers talk of a freak snowstorm heading this way, so I fully expect the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse to thunder in over Big Ben tonight.
Yet there's this collosal void, and it's not just between my ears. I toke on the last cigarette in my pack and realise that I've brought myself down by addicting myself to these things I had (almost) successfully given up completely. At my Work Xmas Party last year, after a month of genuine, rock-solid conviction of no cigarettes which proceeded 16 years of constant smoking, I found myself that night inexplicably jealous of the other smokers, who all seemed to be the other diners. And so I drunkenly asked my boss for a cigarette and the whole cycle repeated itself.
As I commuted home tonight, even the music on my iPod seemed to numb me. Normally, music is invigorating; it is the 'soundtrack to my life' as some cheesy American guy is known for saying but for a good month now, nothing. I am a ghost.
And then it dawned on me what I'm missing.
I need a Montage ~
As that familiar punchy percussion to Michael Sembello's 'Maniac' kicks in, I am walking down the street in a huge puffy coat, beanie on my head, blowing warm air into my cupped hands. Cut to a shot of me in a vast empty gym, running furiously on the spot as I try to raise both knees up to my chest, all captured by a camera moving past me on a dolly track. The keyboard melody begins to play. Now I'm skipping and looking focussed. Very focussed.
Outside again. I am jogging in thick, unflattering clothes, but just look at that determination.
"Just a steeltown girl on a Saturday night, looking for the fight of her life, In the real-time world no one sees her at all, they all say she's crazy"
I'm back in the gym now, a brightly lit one, curling a dumbbell up to my shoulder slowly, v-e-e-e-r-y slowly. Now I'm on a treadmill in a tight vest, and with an oxygen mask on, probably because it makes me look harder.
"Locking rhythms to the beat of her heart, changing woman into life, She has danced into the danger zone, when a dancer becomes a dance."
In a bar. Someone passes me a cigarette. I wave them away. Now I'm in a swimming pool passing everyone. Gosh, slow down!
I take my top off in slow motion. Now I'm jogging outdoors again. Must be Spring. Less clothing. Faster. Even more serious. Cut to close-up of hand as it crushes a cigarette packet.
"She's a maniac, maniac on the floor, And she's dancing like she's never danced before" (repeat)
I'm lifting lots of weights, and laughing with the other men in the gym in a strictly heterosexual way. Now I'm doing Martial Arts better than ever. Front kick, 3 punches; front, reverse, front, then Double Roundhouse. The guy I'm sparring with hits the deck and I help him up and slap him on the arm several times as we nod and smile at each other eagerly. Fade to me jogging into the sunset.
Yes, I feel better now. The Montage. It's the way forward.
Addendum ~ I am not gay.