Sinister: are cushions really that frightening?

[Caitlin Pigtails]

I sat opposite the man, and tried to explain about my finances.  I 
tried to explain why I've not had a job for months, and I tried to make 
him believe me.  I don't think he cared.  He didn't seem interested in 
anything apart from going through his how-to-talk-to-clients script.  
He had someone watching him, which can't have helped.  A visiting 
woman, looking over us and checking that he was doing his job properly.

I was trying to sign on the dole, you see.  It isn't easy.  It involves 
filling in an incredibly long form, practically a book.  They still 
haven't written to tell me if I am going to be given anything, but in 
the meantime i have promised them i will go out and look for things.  I 
don't have a bike to get on, though.

Sometimes life seems all coherent, as if all the little patches have 
come together and are making sense.  Sometimes, though, everything is 
broken up into parts and nothing gets done.  My life has things in it, 
but none of them are important, and none of them fit with the others.  
Just, little episodes.

I saw a family of deer the other day.  That was one of the episodes.  I 
was zooming out of Glasgow on the train, through all the lovely tower 
blocks.  Just as you start to come into the countryside, there is a 
bunch of little-used railway sidings; and the other day, four deer were 
stood about there at the edge of the track, not at all bothered.  At 
least, they didn't seem bothered as I flashed past at whatever 
miles-per-hour.  Freeze-frame.

I told the man I want to be a photographer.  He said: "it's very hard.  
No jobs in it.  Everyone and his dog wants to be a photographer."

The other day I woke up at 4am, terrified.  Next to me on my bed I keep 
a big furry cushion, with a brown-and-cream cowhide pattern.  
Sometimes, the cat sleeps on top of it.  I woke up at 4am, terrified, 
because I knew that this cushion wanted to attack me.  Well.  It didn't 
*want* to, but it was going to do it whatever.  The cushion was going 
to jump on top of my face and stop me breathing.  I sat up in bed so 
that I didn't go back to sleep and give it another chance to get me.

I told the man I wouldn't mind working with computers.  "Ooh," he said, 
like a repairman making that sucking-in "this is going to cost you" 
noise.  "lots of people want to do that.  You need qualifications.  You 
need career history.  We don't see many job opportunities like that."

I saw a fox, too, but it wasn't snowing.  I was looking for some stuff, 
out of a shed.  I opened up the shed, and inside there was a fox, 
climbing high up on top of cupboards and cabinets.  he didn't run away 
in a panic; he gently let himself down to the ground, and wandered 
behind a pile of old electrical cables.  I assume he had tunnelled 
under the walls; that shed had no proper floor.

We have to just assume, I think, that our friends aren't going to let 
us down.

Today's "Observer" had a big long profile of Helena Christensen.  It 
contained this quote: "to this day, she can pontificate at great length 
on the relative merits of Arab Strap vs Belle & Sebastian,"  and I 
couldn't help thinking of Celebrity Deathmatch.

Maybe I won't ever manage to get a job.  I just want to do something 
I'm going to enjoy doing.

It's time for bed.  Hopefully, the cushions won't have that attack urge 
again.



love
xx
caitlin


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