Cleaning lounge of dog poop.
Painting over offensive graffiti.
Accepting apology from Mr Dowson and downstairs nephew (who sported a bruised face and (Mr Dowson explained) had stolen Dowson’s copy of my frontdoor key (because I’d complained about the barking and shouting) and had a ‘subnormal mental capacity’).
Accepting £250 compensation from Mr Dowson.
Reading Carver. Without absorbing any meaning.
Thinking of Rosalind.
Sending Rosalind a text message: We should talk. The wall wasn’t what it seemed.
Receiving message from Rosalind: In the nicest possible way: leave me alone.
Throwing telephone at wall.
Buying new phone with Mr Dowson’s compensation.
Ordering pizza, eating pizza, and going to bed.
I scoured the internet for job opportunities. None were appropriate. I read Popbitch and looked at lady pictures (not in unison).
Still no literary agents made contact.
When not looking at lady pictures or reading Popbitch, the day was spent avoiding thought of money or Rosalind. Father’s donation was steadily evaporating from Travelcards and food and newspapers. Most of Mr Dowson’s compensation had been spent on my new phone and pizza. And as much as eggs are eggs, rent-day would soon come around. I was sure that Mother would stymie any further attempt to coerce cash from Father.
Life unemployed depressed. It felt like winter without hope of spring.
My eye bandage was removed (by me in darkened bedroom). Daylight pained the eye-thing and so I wore sunglasses. It worked well. The glasses disguised the purple monstrosity that my right eye had become post-punch.
Here’s a note of the minutiae of today (times are approximate):
1030: Woke. Listened to Radio 4/XFM.
1130: Rose from bed. Put on sunglasses. Watched This Morning, News and Loose Women.
1400: Found a pork pie in back of fridge. Rinsed and ate.
1420: Cut toe-nails.
1430: Began writing new script ‘Tomorrow’s Nothing’
1435: Surfed internet.
1450: Found porn on internet.
1545: Returned to bed.
1640: Rose from bed. Made a jam sandwich.
1700: Watched Richard and Judy.
1800: Wrote in notebook: I can’t continue like this. I’m an artist.