Oracle.

The three questions I am asked most at work:

• DO YOU WORK HERE?
• WHERE ARE THE TOILETS?
• IS THIS HIGH STREET OR NEW STREET?

…………

As you can imagine, my patience wears thin at times.

If I could, I would answer in the following way:

• OF COURSE I FUCKING WORK HERE! I AM STANDING BEHIND THE COUNTER, MESSING WITH THE TILL, WEARING AN APPOPRIATELY BRANDED UNIFORM. WHAT DO YOU THINK I’M DOING, ROBBING THE PLACE?!
• The toilets are on the First Floor. Just follow the smell. And before you think about complaining about the general unpleasantness of the damn things, why don’t you consider the absurd notion that you have come to a BOOKSHOP to use the TOILET. DO GO AWAY NOW.
• THIS IS NEW STREET. HOW DO I KNOW? I READ THE FUCKING ROAD SIGN TELLING ME WHERE I AM. I DO NOT GO BRAZENLY WANDERING AROUND THE CITY CENTRE, WALTZING INTO SHOPS AND HOPING FOR THE BEST. Do not look upon me with scorn upon learning that your precious book is at the other branch. I am not going to fetch it for you. Piss off.

…I feel a lot better for that.

Now then, where were we? Ah yes, life.

I’ve been spending the majority of my spare time reading, because it’s making me feel productive, within my head. It was nice, last night, to snuggle down at 9 o’ clock with Tersias (a book I have owned for four years and never read. Turns out it’s an indirect sequel, which perhaps explains why it has subconsciously repulsed me all this time), hot buttered toast and weary lamp light to guide me through the pages.

I have a lot of internet stuff to catch up on, but honestly, I can’t be bothered. Nobody seems to want to help me out, and the return doesn’t seem worth it at the moment. I have far more important things to do away from the computer, such as make progress in Kingdom Hearts and work my way through the backlog of books in my room. Slowly but surely, we’re getting there. Now I just have to stop buying so many of the damn things, and I’ll finally have caught up with myself!