Trying to make sense of the afternoon

On days off I can never get the hang of the afternoon. There's some feeling of melancholy and uselessness that hits me about four o'clock. I like the mornings. Tuesday morning I'm full of purpose; I go for a two mile run, I shop, I do my washing. It's a warm day and people are feeling it. The woman at the bank gives me a cheerful greeting. But the afternoon starts to drag. I'm reading but I can feel the lull and I want it to be the evening time. Maybe it's because you want the exhilaration of leaving work but it's not going to come, because you weren't there today.

Wednesday is grey and the rain comes down. I head to London centre. A man is photographing the strawberries in the window of a cake shop on Regent street. Further up the road a man is dressed in orange plastic overalls with writing on, advertising the fact they have a sale on at the print shop down the road. Who thought up an awful job like that? I'm browsing in the chaos of the mac shop and HMV, and then reading sections of books in Foyles. I see now how I used up so much time in the nineties.

Today is all blue sky. I know it's a chance to go out without my coat but I wear it anyway. You can slouch properly in a coat. However much a summer's day is presented to you, it's hard to get rid of the winter coat. You need me all through the bad times, says the winter coat, and now it's nice you try and abandon me. I walk through the park, see the people on the grass reading, and the mums chatting while their kids run around. I know I should stop and bask in the atmosphere, but I can't, I need to keep moving.

My thirties are disappearing, all too soon. Things came together, things fell apart, things I wish could have stayed together. I know that time can be re-visited but it depends on where I am in the present to how it all feels in the past. I don't like having so much past. It's more stuff to get lost in while trying hard to make sense of it. I'm getting ready to turn the page to the next chapter. See you soon.