2 am:
Can’t sleep, can’t stay awake. That last one really affected me, ingrained in the brain. Maybe I should see that doctor that Kev recomended. But what if they find out at work, I’ll be the station buffoon! I’ve got the shakes again and the panic attacks. They wake me up out of sleep, the broiling queasy stomach and pounding heart that thinks its under attack. In a sense it is, by my own body and mind, the inner enemy that lies in wait, to pounce on a poor unsuspecting soul going about their daily lives. Thats me, the quipping clown at the scene, laughing with the team at the ME’s grisly jokes, while I click and shutter the montage of misery and mayhem………Didn’t think I would end up in this line of work after Art School, all those elitist dreams, arthouse pretensions and genious denied. A few of my fellow graduates are doing a nice line in pet portraits, soft porn and cut price commercials. Wonder if they get panic attacks, slick sweat and vertigo on awakening. You just can’t talk about these things, gotta soldier on and all that drivel. The phobias are pretty awful too, I had to double check the security three times yesterday before going to work, counting red cars and washing the taps in the station restroom before I stepped into the office. What to do, the songs are repeating in my head, I can’t sleep and don’t want to go to bed, everythings a rhyme and still I’m doing time in my mind, head miles going nowhere fast all the lies and plastic smiles, fixed grin to keep the panic in! I don’t go out much, Saturday nights is Pad Thai and the dull sedation of TV - CSI and real life police car chases, screening calls, my father’s voice, trace memory-image drifting across the wires. The photos uploaded to the digital frame, dissolve past in an endless loopy slide show, snap frozen optical illusion, there is NO-ONE there, lights on no-one home etc……….The body is dead, my dear and the spirit has long left the building along with Elvis ok? Everyone is dying all the time and you take their photographs, thats what you do, thats your lot in life, so get over it, build a bridge! You should be grateful you’ve got a bloody job, just look at all the homeless jobless plebs around town. Yeah, but I would swap places just to get rid of my sweat soaked anxiety ridden phobia driven existance. I can almost understand the junkies now, why they would want to be out of their skulls, 24/7, calm the neural pathways, stop up the white noise, the not-quite-on-the-station jarring haptic visuality, the chemical rock-a-bye baby…….almost.
Meanwhile, the phone rings, the dog howls and I have to get out of here! My malignant narcissitic boss rasps down the optic cables. ‘Hope you’ve written up your report, Devine, I want it by 6pm tonight or your’re out.’ Shit, its 4.30pm now and I’ve have to go into work on my day off and bow and scrape to her majesty. I’m flat out over it, I tell you no lies. The photos seek eye contact, following me out the door. I still don’t know where I have seen that boy…………
