Lazy from C-Z

A bloodied angel lies roadside near Chiswick High Road just as I was walking past. The weary soul took no notice of me; its gaze locked shut on a faraway front, July weather and all. If only I can look away. The sheer amount of effort it takes to feign normality under strange circumstances allow me to dwell upon mine own weak determination. Five minutes I thought of nothing and dragged my feet forward heavily one after the other, and only finally then she was gone, out of sight. What strange circumstances would I have landed upon had I chosen to take a path clearly less taken. No soul in that moment would have stopped to think to notice. I did, if only for a while. Saving stray cherubs are no work for the likes of me. Certainly not me. Obviously not me. Leave the strange to the strangers.

Time has slowed me down drastically. I feel my mind slowly deteriorating with every ordeal, every heartache, every bad news the mainstream media is willing to construe as truth. Truth seems to be conflated with reality most of the time. These two concepts are not mutually exclusive, though the similarities are deceivingly very familiar. The situation at home is far from the ideal view I have of it. Miriam and I continue to have relatively minor squabbles over mundane tasks or experiences, albeit no cause for concern as our past infractions. Our challenges are mostly financial; me having to struggle being parsimonious while she struggles as usual to remain stingy. The only time I have ever gotten peeves over her spending was what I feel to be her struggles with smoking addiction. The constant need to supply herself with tobacco, purchasing a pack each and every time she visits the an off licence, at the risk of eventually running out and driving her to madness, while my advice fall to d

It is a rather dull affair to bequeath our day-by-days to the uncharted new world of pandemia. Not long ago it was but a fleeting sentiment to want to be free; free from work, from responsibilities, free from the interference of external stimulus. Now the contrary is a rather permissibly more desirable outcome. This uncertainty offers us no reprieve. We still have to crawl somehow back to reality. And in so doing would punch us with the realisation that our woes have never parted ways, it resumes, accumulates over the absence of attention. The payback is intense. It is going to be a sordid affair, one that we had thought relinquished upon the onset of this persistent outbreak. If, by any chance, a miracle struck me down from where I currently sit  and bless me with redemption or solace, my gratitude, which has eluded me for the longest time now, would be most appreciated. It has taken a toll for the lot of us, and it is indeed so banal that my teeth gnash at the memory of it, sight uns