Day Seven

I woke early today eager to fulfil a hectic schedule which I had assembled in my dream-think; a thousand somnial post-it notes on my brain-wall. One of which read "A. Phone the department for science and pensions. B. Complain to the internet about wrong sort of compass. C. Assess debts, consider re-financing." (Notice the use of A, B, and C in place of the more commonly used numerical bullet-point priority system. Admittedly, even I can't help but read bullet-points of such form as options rather than to-do thingies. But in the war for consistency we must accept that some of the minor-battles will seem absurd, pointless and unhelpfully confusing...) The other nine-hundred and ninety-nine post-it notes were decorated with perfect circles of varying sizes. Sometimes I think that all that circles have in common are their variances. And their shape, of course.

These thoughts flew through my head as I brushed my teeth, which have pranged in mild agony whenever I have bitten into a toffee of late. I scrubbed extra-hard, probably removing the enamel-layer in doing so. I really should go to the dentist, but mine has recently gone private, and really, no-one could afford to see a private dentist on a scientist's wages! Unless their specific field of science was dentistry of course. I really ought to look for a new NHS one, but I'm reliably informed by Doris that NHS dentists can't be found for love nor fillings in West Medding. And who am I to buckle trends?

Then it struck me, quite suddenly as I gazed into the mirror at my unusually handsome face. Yesterday I entirely forgot to dress in my science-clothes! What a juvenille delinquency. No, that's harsh, for I'm certain I cannot recall intentionally eschewing them. Rather, it is a harsh reminder of time's determined continuity, and its ravaging effects on my agedness. Yes, this discrepency was a minor act of senility. Perhaps it's time I had a mid-life crisis. Perhaps I'm already having one? How would one know, exactly? Is personal crisis to be known to oneself, or observed by ones colleagues and surrounders? I must ask Doris.

Feeling quite philosophical, I clamberred into my science-clothes and stared forth-right into the mirror. I felt quite ridiculous. "What a sad man I am becoming." I thought to myself, before weeping a silent tear. It glinted in the mirror, back at me, a gentle reminder, saying "Doltsby, don't be daft. You're not sad. You're sensitive. Deep. Caring... Attractive." Afterwards I felt quite buzzed and eager, ready to get on with my day. I think it's good to get deep sometimes, and outsmart your problems like that.

I resolved immediately to have some fun, and picked my phone to call Doris, and as I did so, lo and behold, it rang of its own accord. "Doris!" I said, "Come round fast, I have something important to tell you, and I must tell you it staring into your eyes, as you stare into mine, with our hands clasped together... Oh Doris, it really is the only way possible!" A man on the other end eventually interupted my childish hippy nonsense by saying "Err, sir, this is the department for horticulture, development, and natural philosophy. We've came across your application."

It transpired that there has been a recent government shake up, and the department for science and pensions no longer exists! All this waiting for nothing. The chap said he would post out the correct form for me post-haste, and distraught, I headed straight for bed, even though it was only eleven-thirty in the morning, to sleep until its arrival. Science! Consider me on strike from you.