Appetite for Distraction – Another Day


He wakes up. He has problems with the shower again and swears a little more loudly than the day before. He does not have time to wash his hair and anyway he hopes to get it cut today so they will wash it for him the assistant slicking on shampoo and rubbing his scalp and then conditioner silently washing a strangers head ignoring the sensuality of touching a strangers head as he sits there vulnerable head backwards in the specially designed hairdressers sink but that has not happened yet because it is still the morning and he is getting dressed. Then he realise he doesn’t have the car and will have to walk the route he normally takes to get where he needs to be so he is now late and rushes out of the house and forgets his lunch and returns and then is more late but makes it still with time to spare because he always plans to leave early. Then he sorts some laundry into different piles. None of it is his laundry but he is trying to be helpful because no one else seems to want to be helpful. He drinks coffee and eats a bagel and reads some more of Portnoy’s Complaint. It really is, as rumour had it, an extende ode to masturbation: the guilt, the fear, the shame. He thinks he enjoys it but feels that he is probably missing the deeper point because there must be a deeper point because otherwise it would be so lauded would it, he thinks, or maybe it would because at heart perhaps everyone loves to masturbate, everyone and everyone feels the shame but a book about it means everyone can blame Roth for his perversion and then get back to fingering, stroking, strumming, pumping. This is what he understands when he reads. He is fascinated still by Rick Santorum a man who wants a theocracy and everyone on his side seems okay with that. He goes to a hairdresser in the evening and he gets his hair cut. It seems to go okay and he is happy with the result. Now let the ladies overwhelm him as they try to stroke his hair and make him their own special toy. This is probably not going to happen to him, he thinks, but nevertheless, he can hope. He doesn’t really want that. He just wants love. For now he will settle for a cup of coffee. He has other thoughts but he cannot remember them. His brain hurts so he goes and lies down.

Published by

The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s