Creature Of Habit

March 2nd

I pull out an old book from the shelf. After only a page and a half of reading, my hair itches. The creatures that live within the yellowed pages are out and about again. I can feel them crawling over me, biting down into my skin and scalp. They live in old books and survive on dust and words already read. Sometimes I try and catch them to try and get a look at them but it's no use. They're too small. I dig my nails into the crown of my head to relieve a particularly intense itch.

I look out the window. In the distance, I can see the tail-end of the evening train out of the city. It just sits on the line, its posterior poking out from under a small bridge. Maybe it's broken down. They're so unreliable, and the price is ridiculous too. I once heard that the plane fare was cheaper to certain cities than the train fare. If I was ever going to go somewhere I would definitely take a plane.

New neighbours have moved in upstairs, and they seem to be perpetually moving a wardrobe from one side of the room to the other. The man is very loud and has an accent, but I haven't seen much of the woman. The man and his friends were messing around with a motorcycle today, and they kept revving the engine and shouting to each other over the noise. They said 'she' and 'her' a lot, so I assume it was a female motorcycle. They have been here only a week and already there's noise. There shouldn't be noise. Nobody wants to complain but with the residents' peace and quiet at stake it's a matter of principle.

March 14th

I have grown tired of the shop girls. The exchange is always the same; they are polite and I am also polite. I always say 'thanks'. Sometimes, I say 'bye' after I say thanks, but that's usually only to the really friendly one who always says 'bye'. I think she might be foreign. She has a high pitched voice and is always very chipper. That doesn't sound like any girls from my town. But the shop girls have to be fake in order to be good at their job. Sometimes I stock up on food for three or four days so I don't have to go through the routine with them too often. It's getting embarrassing.

April 27th

The seasons are changing so fast. It's spring now, so the birds have become noisy. I clocked their singing yesterday at 3.09am. That's insane. Dawn, I can understand, but 3.09am? I thought they were supposed to be welcoming the coming day, not shouting and roaring like drunken rabble-rousers at the end of the night. Like them upstairs. They had some sort of 'party'. They left a note in my mailbox but I tore it up. The amount of shouting was baffling and I did not sleep a wink. I took note of the types going in and out until 5.30am, and they were not particularly respectable.

I prefer winter to the other seasons. I can wear my hat and coat and scarf without anybody thinking it looks weird. I like to get as much coverage of myself as possible, and winter conditions suit me best. With my eyeglasses on, there is only nose and partial-cheek exposure. Summer will be a nightmare. The shop girls will think I am weird when I buy my tins of salmon and beans with a hat and coat on in July. They'll be used to all the other people purchasing their canned goods in t-shirts and shorts, and then they'll see me and say to themselves "He's weird". This will be after the regular 'thanks/bye' debacle.

May 3rd

I'll get double post tomorrow, because of the bank holiday. It will mostly be junk. On Friday, I got a letter from the bank, hand-written. It went:


Dear Mr. Perdant,

We would like to speak to your regarding your account.
Please contact me on 071568744 to arrange a suitable time for an appointment where we may discuss the matter further.

Yours sincerely,
Martha Gray


Why would they do that? So very vague in that letter. What do they want? Probably to offer me some new service, or to get me to open up some new account. They'll try and railroad me into it, telling me that it will earn more interest and be better for my savings if I switch. I wonder why it was hand-written; it must be to dupe the recipient into thinking he's dealing with a human and not a heartless money-grabbing organisation. Like it's a letter from a lost love or something. I tore it up. I'm no fool.

May 7th

I was awoken today by a regular knocking sound. It would go for a short time, then stop, then go again. After about a minute I realised them upstairs were 'doing it'. I wish they could do it in a way that was silent. Also, the knocking would only last ten or fifteen seconds and then pause for at least as long. I know I could probably go for thirty seconds in one go, given the opportunity; it would be a matter of pride. It would be embarrassing to only be able to go for fifteen seconds at a time. The man upstairs is laughable. Ha! It didn't seem to bother them, though, because when they eventually gave it a rest it sounded like the moans of the dying. The mental images that flooded my head were uniformly unpleasant.

They come and go at all hours of the day and night. Sorry, I mean they depart and return at all hours. I assume the man is a drug-dealer, and the woman is a drug-dealer's girlfriend. That is how they pay for the flat and not have to be up in the morning. Up for work I mean.

I had a job once. It was as a sort of clerk, in an office. The co-worker that I shared an office with was the most stupid person I have ever met. In the next office was the laziest person I have ever met, and one more over was the most insane person I have ever met. The next office after that was inhabited by a pleasant woman who had sons my age and was a really down-to-earth sort who used to complain about the lazy one and the insane one. She got on well enough with the stupid one though, only because it would be madness to isolate oneself from everybody in the office. I don't miss having a job.

July 15th

The neighbours have a dog now. They let you have a dog in these flats so long as it doesn't bite the other tenants. I think this is crazy. If these people want to have dogs let them go and live in a proper house like normal people. The next thing you know there'll be babies crying. Where will it end? They release the hound at various points in the day, then spend an inordinate amount of time trying to recall it. There is also dog dirt dotted around the green area and on the passageway to the bins. It's like a minefield. A minefield of dog dirt.

August 2nd

I see somebody went mad and shot lots of people the other day. The man brought two guns with him to work in his suitcase and killed five co-workers, wounding another three. It was all over the news. Some people just aren't right in the head. They talked to a psychologist, and he said the man was probably psychotic for some time, but that nobody had noticed him getting worse. I remember somebody once said that psychosis was the chronic inability to see the easy way out. Like it was a flaw in one's perception, and so instead of taking a weeks holiday, or going down to the job centre, or just staying in bed, this man shot a bunch of people. He probably thought it was easiest thing to do. I am definitely not psychotic, thankfully, because I know the easy way out.

September 12th

The landlord was around visiting them upstairs. Apparently there were complaints about the noise level, behaviour of the dog, hygiene concerns due to dog dirt, and bin bag protocol infringements. Or so I hear. There's a three strike rule here, so they had to be careful and they just weren't careful enough. They're even more noisy moving out than they were moving in.

The turnover in shop girls over the last few months has been regular. It's good to see some different faces. Perhaps none are good enough and keep getting the sack, or perhaps the owner of the cornershop is a bit tight with the wages. He has that look about him. I operate my shop visits on a rotational basis so as to spread it out amongst as many of them as possible. That way, things don't get too weird.

November 2nd

I like it when it's quiet around here. It's nice and cold again, and everything cowers and shivers in the purity of winter. The trees are stripped of their finery and stand naked outside my window. The birds shut up, or hibernate, or make themselves scarce. And upstairs is unoccupied, at least for now. In the distance, near the bridge, I see that broken-down train is back sitting on the tracks again, going nowhere, and the Rail Authority says there'll be more delays. It's a disgrace. I mean, how hopeless are they?

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