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Too Many Totes

Another day, another tote bag for my collection. If I sign up for any more magazines, I’ll have enough cheap canvas to sew myself a pair of periodical themed hipster trousers. I’m excited to top up my intellectualism – beats texting my exes. Lockdown sucks quite a lot. I’ve lost count of how many poos I’ve had, and at this point am considering putting up a chart to help keep tally. As my mind wanders the silliest of things bubble to the surface. Do you reckon you can lose weight just by shivering? Why am I obsessed with medium sized family cars? Is it possible to make a meat-based vegetable alternative?

Too many totes. The worst bit – I can’t even smoke. The past increases. The future recedes. Another day. Another day. I’m still as boring as ever. Things have to be different so I head outside. I lie down on the deep green lawn and begin to read. The New Yorker is to be my companion as the birds above me begin to spiral. Fuck I’m not even dead yet. Oh, look it’s a plane (I think), I guess I’ve transcended.

I imagine my head swelling like an egg. It reaches down the side of my house, past the lamppost at the end of my street. I say egg, it’s not really egg-shaped as I haven’t shaved off all my hair yet. I defiantly don’t want to do that. My hair is my personality. Not that I’ve expressed myself properly in the past weeks. I’m less excited; I miss being me. Beers up – let’s take Tinder’s offer of an “anywhere you like passport” and surf the international Tinder wave. An afternoon in Los Angeles; how about breakfast in Miami? If that doesn’t fill the hole I could always work on my dissertation - 10,000 words on regional devolution.

I turn to my friends who I’m convinced will help, and I’ll tell you what, if anyone forces me to do another virtual pub quiz, I’ll lose my mind. For a few moments at least, I manage to feel a little bit more normal as each question saps the last of my neurons not committed to lethargy. “The Emperor Claudius legalized what at banquets?” Oh piss off, I think. I’m going to bed. Another day under the sun. I guess I have to get up tomorrow.

[Note: If anyone knows of any weight loss plans related to shivering please contact Quaranzine who’ll put you through to me.]

Written by Callum Ruddock.

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