I woke from seven hours sleep, and stayed in bed another 45 minutes. No C25K day three for me yet. More bad dreams in the night: desertion, let down. Familiar themes, feelings. I program a playlist for the start of the day – starting with Guns N’ Roses’ Coma, and when the song climaxes, I walk backward from the middle of the road, and just for a second imagine I’m Slash, walking backward on stage in that drunken way rock guitarists do, like the music, or the feedback is so powerful it’s physically forcing them back.
On the tram, I appreciate the relish with which a grown man in baseball cap turns each page of his air-freighted copy of Q magazine. Opposite him, a passenger sleeps, head resting on the window, her mouth open (no drool at this stage). Clasped between her second and third fingers is a large white envelope.
The tram stops, doors open, and another fella climbs on. In his clutches, a hardback copy of The Da Vinci Code. He’s a few years too late, but it was on special at K-Mart, and he thought he’d find out what all the fuss was about. And so far, it’s a real page turner – he’s actually surprised he’s enjoying it so much. He burrows into the thickening human forest and I lose sight of him.
The shimmering brittle noise of Bedhead’s Bedside Table crescendoes in my new headphones, and no heads turn today at least. A fella in a “Beavers Love Wood” T shirt yawns, and I pull the cord for my stop, then rub shoulders with my fellow passengers as I struggle to the door. Skid Row’s I Remember You is playing now (“remember yesterday, walking hand in hand / love letters in the sand / I remember you”), and if anyone can tell, they aren’t letting it show.
Today is Humpday. Let’s get on with it.
