It started with some loud discussion about condiments, I could hear them from my room which is situated at the opposite end of The Peach from the kitchen. I'm not sure how it happened, I was trying my level best to work on my essay and for once I was actually making some progress. There was stomping up and down the hallway, there was full scale yelling there was door closing and opening, in short The Peachettes were at war.
The Spatula stomped off down the hallway and Grizelda came into my room, I cleared off my armchair, sat her down and rolled her a cigarette. It is my firm belief that non-smokers should smoke in a situation like this one. Grizelda was angry, the kind of angry that eats your words and leaves you staring with a hand on your heart to keep it from leaping out of your chest. I thought oh dear, this is not ideal. The Spatula entered soon after and my essay quietly slipped into the abyss.
I should have been angry. I should have thrown the pair of them out but I thought there is possibility in this situation. The Peach has been in an advanced state of discombobulation for some time now. The corners are all dust and the carpets high and lumpy where we have all been sweeping and sweeping things. Sometimes it is possible to cast a wide net of calm and paint words across air and breathe them like balm. A discussion about condiments had lead us into new territory.
So we talked and despite their anger and their tears and the mess raging all round us like harbingers of doom we decided to rebuild this city. Tomorrow I will work on my essay in my office, away from here, away from the commencement of large scale recombobulation, our grand plan. I will return to The Peach before 3 because that is the hour when everything changes.
We are rearranging all of the communal spaces. We have a grand vision of The Peach rising from the ashes. We have a plan at working at living together. We have been thrown together here by disaster, misadventure and the jagged shapes of broken love. The time for camping and dreaming of a time when our lives were real or longing for our lives to begin again are over. I have lost an evening of much needed study time but I have gained hope and a library. I will make the ridiculous declaration that more people should yell at each other about condiments more often.
The Spatula stomped off down the hallway and Grizelda came into my room, I cleared off my armchair, sat her down and rolled her a cigarette. It is my firm belief that non-smokers should smoke in a situation like this one. Grizelda was angry, the kind of angry that eats your words and leaves you staring with a hand on your heart to keep it from leaping out of your chest. I thought oh dear, this is not ideal. The Spatula entered soon after and my essay quietly slipped into the abyss.
I should have been angry. I should have thrown the pair of them out but I thought there is possibility in this situation. The Peach has been in an advanced state of discombobulation for some time now. The corners are all dust and the carpets high and lumpy where we have all been sweeping and sweeping things. Sometimes it is possible to cast a wide net of calm and paint words across air and breathe them like balm. A discussion about condiments had lead us into new territory.
So we talked and despite their anger and their tears and the mess raging all round us like harbingers of doom we decided to rebuild this city. Tomorrow I will work on my essay in my office, away from here, away from the commencement of large scale recombobulation, our grand plan. I will return to The Peach before 3 because that is the hour when everything changes.
We are rearranging all of the communal spaces. We have a grand vision of The Peach rising from the ashes. We have a plan at working at living together. We have been thrown together here by disaster, misadventure and the jagged shapes of broken love. The time for camping and dreaming of a time when our lives were real or longing for our lives to begin again are over. I have lost an evening of much needed study time but I have gained hope and a library. I will make the ridiculous declaration that more people should yell at each other about condiments more often.
Comments
Fuck. I hate ketchup.
Wow. That WAS therapeutic!
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Er, yes. That will be all, then.