Chapter 1

1. Thoughts and Traffic

I woke up to the sound of traffic below. There was no need for an alarm, the cars took care of that. Gathering by the light that was struggling to get in through the old rusty blinds it was early morning, perhaps just when the sun starts to rise.

I tried to go back to sleep.

Nothing would work. The tossing increased and when I dove my head under my pillow, trying to block out the noise and the light it was pointless. My mind became active, though I don't remember when it turned on and the neutrons fired up. The day before was whirring around inside somewhere in me replaying the incident. I could almost see my reflection on the bald shiny head of my boss. His glaring blue eyes frightened me, the flare in his nostrils made me jump back.

"You're fired, you're fired!" he shouted. I hated people shouting; screaming got people nowhere. I covered my ears and then cringed.

There was no reason for it. No explanation as to why the sacking occurred. The only answer that came was: "We're cutting down on overheads." That was it, apparently there was no need to further explain oneself. I thought about it for a while with my head in an open staff locker trying to tell myself in the dark crampt space that everything would be okay, that I could find another job after working in one for ten long shitty years.

Now I had my head under my flat pillow thinking faster than I really wanted to. Any bit of softness had been lost ages ago.

Job, job, job...Money, money...sleep, sleep, sleep. The thinking continued on and on. Suddenly I had enough of the clattering below, leapt out of bed, ran towards the bathroom, and doused my head with cold water from the white ceramic sink. There's nothing like a cold bit of water in the morning to wake you up, to reposition your thoughts and to get you to focus on the day ahead.

I couldn't focus. I raised my head up, glanced at my face in the large mirror that was full of dried toothpaste from a ritual called brushing one’s teeth. I hated brushing my teeth, and now the tongue had to get a good scrub - that was where all the harmful bacteria hid. I ran my hand over my rough, leathery face. Stubble - I needed a shave. I tried not to think, tried not to tell myself, "You were fired, so you need to find a job."

If my father showed his face I would have loved for him to say, "You can ride off my coat-tails anytime, Son."

That was a fictional incident; such a thing would never happen, I was sure of that. My mind started to spiral out of control. I continued to stare into the mirror, into my eyes, and wondered if luck had anything to do with my current position. Luck had nothing to do with it; I was not superstitious nor had I ever had notions of becoming such.

I found myself back in my bed, deciding that job hunting was no longer on the agenda. I owed myself a lie in. I shut my eyes and scrunched them closed to stop any bit of light from entering.

Why? Why what? Why? I thought for a while under the covers, huddled in a fetal position, a stream of images and thoughts filling my mind. Somehow my mind was having a field day at my expense. When I pictured Dad in my head I saw a stubborn, greying-haired man wearing round glasses, standing hunch-framed under the door. Mother was smiling, her green eyes spoke to me and said, "Hello."
I heard a dog, and the sound of whirring car engines followed. The whirring increased, followed by a screech and then a loud boom. Something wasn't quite right. I had no headache, no pain establishing itself anywhere, just a lot of thoughts that were collecting like a snowball slowly rolling down a hill and then gathering up momentum.

Why is there such a thing as coffee? Why can't hands exist on feet? Why does red offer certain connotations that green does not? Now such questions are what an eight year old may ask himself or his parents, but he quickly learns that such questions are pointless and will only wreck the head if such matters are continually thought on.

I never had such a problem with thinking too much, come to think of it. I think I had, at various times of my life, been accused of not thinking enough. This was different, though. Something wasn't quite right. I would have to pay the doctor a little visit.