From The Recesses Of The Mind This Month

Sunday, June 7th, 2009

When I worked from home on Tuesday, I entered an altered state. I was half in the world of work, and half in holidayland. But actually in neither. I was in limbo. A place where my mind could float. Like a ghost that belongs nowhere, so can just drift aimlessly as it waits to be summoned to God’s office for its appraisal. Here in this limbo, I was susceptible to idle thoughts, ones out of the office and which no one could catch on my mobile or Blackberry.

I found myself drifting down the street at two in the afternoon on a weekday. It felt weird to be wandering, wondering, at that time of the day. And the streets seemed unfamiliar. The people were strange, alien even. Who were all these old folk anyway and where had they come from? They took over the buses, pavements, benches and supermarkets. It looked like an invasion by old-age vampires, who only come out in the day, with hospital bed-sheet white skin that’s so worn it’s become thread bare, semi-translucent. They hang upright from bus stop benches, glaring in the June sunshine and baring their badly fitted teeth at dogs, cats, pigeons and children passing by.

The species that shares this 9-5 territory with the vampire OAPs, is the yummy mummy. I see one drearily pushing a buggy containing her little monster wielding a dripping ice-cream. I float past two more, invisible, as they speak to each other in an unfamiliar language. 60 Minute Makeover, Trisha, Jeremy Kyle and Lie Detector Tests.

Then through the hazy sunshine, familiar faces appear. Those I usually only see swimming against the tide of the commuters. The bloke in the pork pie hat, strumming his guitar with an irregular rhythm, as if he’s trying to find the right chord. At low tide, I can see him more clearly. The bright yellow flower in the lapel of his jacket. The perpetual smile dancing on the corners of his mouth. The intense concentration, which appears to come so easily. Like he’s a Zen Master of meditation.

Then there’s the old black guy, who’s always dressed smartly in an unknown army’s uniform, sitting outside his favourite Costcutter franchise. Guarding it, so it’s protected from an unknown enemy. He watches time slip casually by in the reflection of his shiny boots. But at least time is his to lose. In the office, you’re not the boss of your time. It’s work’s possession and it devours it, until there’s nothing left but just the skeleton of the day. The scraps are all we have to remind us of who we are. Even in holidayland we’re too occupied with must-seeing things, being with friends and family, or catching up on sleep, to have much time for ourselves. Although in this state of limbo I got to snatch back some time for me. As if this limbo was a cool lake, refracting time on its surface, bending it in my direction. All I had to do was reach out and grab it.

I ended up in the park by my flat. The grass was verdant, luminous. Shiny crows glittered from within it, like black diamonds. A guy lounging on a bench sucked on his cigarette, fashioning a piece of amber to add to the setting, with just his lips and lungs. The creases in his face had turned him into a permanent smoker, even when he didn’t have a cigarette in his mouth. Time takes a cigarette, to escape its timelessness. These outsiders, who’d escaped from 9-5 jobs, did everything slowly. Because they had all the time in the world. Time gives them bonus points. The counting crows make a mental note of them. Pointless points for the idlers. When you slow down, your thoughts become clear. They crystallise. Becoming rare gems. Epiphanies.

From an open window, a flute unfurled its music. Then from another, I could hear the calling of the violin. They flowed together, creating celestial music. Separated in body, but not in spirit. In that moment, I felt elated. Everything made sense. My mind and body were connected. Then suddenly, a man in a dark suit emerged from the verdant green. He didn’t glitter, he absorbed all the light. A long shadow in the sun. He was the grim reaper, telling me my time was up. I was forced to return to the world of emails, briefs and Blackberrys. The crows were startled and took flight. Time had flown, out of my grasp. It obviously wasn’t my time. Yet.