Chapter 10 - I hate old women

My recent interaction with a friend was awkward, and I should have apologised to her, but I really didn’t feel sorry at all, not one bit. I had no problem with my behaviour and felt it was satisfactory. Yes, satisfactory. I had a similar run in with and old flame. I didn’t feel the least bit ashamed about how I behaved nor my arrogant response to her response to my behaviour. In fact, I still laugh about it, and often to her face. But she doesn’t walk away, or tell me to get fucked. She stays around; she seeks my attention more and more. Rudy is a great guy, but not that great.

Josie was like that, even though she was incredibly selfish, unbelievably so, she also didn’t want to miss out on anything. Please keep in touch, write to me, call me, try and see me.

She really wanted to remain friends. We just must be friends, I think you are lovely.

I made a real effort to keep in touch, even though I knew I shouldn’t have. But she asked me too.

She asked me too and and of course I succumbed, like the idiot man I am.

I was so annoyed yesterday after we spoke. I was sitting on the train, travelling in town for a job interview, and decided to see if we could hang out. Roll your eyes patient readers, because I should have.

‘Hey Rudy, I missed you.’

‘Ah, that’s sweet. How you been?’ I was sweating a little at this point.

‘Great, great. Tom is just great…’ She continued like this for another 25 to 35 words, oblivious to how it would make me feel. Then again, I called her, so I deserved it.

‘Yeah, so I’m just on my way into the city,’ I threw in when she paused to breath, ‘and wondered if you wanted to get a drink or coffee later this afternoon?’

She responded right away: ‘I can’t. This week is bad, and so is next week. Maybe after that…’

She returned to talking about how happy her and Tom were like I GAVE A FUCKING SHIT and how FUCKING busy she was.

I am sick to fucking death of busy fucking people.

The interview went badly, very badly. The office was white and bleak, and the lack of anything really put me off my game. My anger and shame and hurt and pain had not subsided from the phone call, and the guy who interviewed me just plain didn’t like me from the moment he laid eyes on me.

Do I really want to work for a major corporation? Did I want to get further into a system I don’t understand nor want to understand?

The answer was yes, why? The fiscal benefits far outweigh my concerns about my soul? Money is money, and the more you have the better right?

So, the interview was bust, I headed to a dive to find a drink and saw a women who reminded me instantly of my mother. Relative height and build and age. And I was instantly saddened.

Whenever I see someone who is alone, poor, old, hungry, tired, thin – I am reminded of my mums and I feel sad. If it looks like the world is against them, or they have given up, if they look far from happy. If they plain don’t look happy. If they are gaunt, if their hair is dark and curly, I think of my mum. I think I should call her and spend more time with her. Seeing them makes me realise how much of a disappointment I must be to her.