It's been a funny couple of days.  Not funny ha-ha or even peculiar, just funny in the sense that I haven't felt so out of time for a while.  The last days of unemployment were like this, when the four walls you see are all you will see all day.  And then, at the end of the day, when normally you would come home, I have been sallying forth to go to things (3 Essex Book Fest events in one week) - it's all the wrong way round.

When you are in this state, little things can take on vast proportions.  A letter regarding a gift subscription to a magazine for my husband for example.  I bought 6 months, in case he didn't like it.  I've already ignored one 'resubscribe' letter, to get another one saying 'you only have 3 issues left (ie half!) and now have 14 days to sign up for 12 months or we'll write to the recipient.'  I did actually check 'blackmail' in the dictionary and this is it.

The joys of Twitter - I've got an outline apology and, if I give them the details, a pledge not to send the letter.  But nothing about not sending it to others...

She pressed send, imagining the thud as the tweet landed, weighted down with strong words.  Then the coin-flip of whether anyone would hear.  In silence, waiting.

One of the joys of commuting (yes, there are a few) is that you have a perfect chance to observe your fellow humans with their guard down.  It's because it is such an unnatural environment, we all pretend that everyone else is invisible for the duration of the journey.  I'm as guilty as the rest, happily putting my make up on each morning on the train, when I would never do the same sitting in a cafe.

Just occasionally, conversations start, though normally it takes an event to bring hardened commuters together.  If the train is stuck for example, people chat, offer lifts as we all remember that we are humans, not robots.  That is why the experience below was so peculiar - it was all so prosaic and ordinary, I had done nothing to provoke a reaction.  I was on the train and went slowly passed a bloke standing on the platform.  We made eye-contact and the look of mingled fury and rage I got was incredible. I had no idea what I'd done to provoke it - maybe he'd just had a bad day, but my writer's mind immediately starting racing through scenarios and consequences...

Their eyes met, sliding over each other as the train wheezed to a stop.  Prickling with threat, she waited, tense with anticipation until the train restarted

Surprises: the older I get, the less I like them.  It is normally because they add a layer of unnecessary complexity to life.  Simple arrangements become houses of cards, made up of multiple fragile pieces, any of which could blow over at any moment.

 On another note, I can remember doing the below with a record player...sigh...

Just the opening chords, building softly, brought his face into sharp focus.  Then that one line that summed it all up, the crescendo.  She pressed repeat.