It all seems connected. This week had diary entries. Quite a lot. Three from the first four have gone west. Two delayed and one may have gone altogether. The paying one of course. So from a day of busy shit I have a day of quiet shit but still have the busy shit tomorrow so am hardly better off. Dark and raining anyway outside so unlikely to go there, and really dull stuff at home as far as I know. But it proves none is in our control, even if I'd planned my own coronation today something could have screwed it up, like King Edward VII's appendicitis did for his. And like its opposite, coincidence, chaos has no winners or losers, it just moves things around infinitely without any benefit or loss overall, just means we can't depend on anything, even our own life.
The only beneficiary has been the blog which would have probably had to wait till tomorrow especially as I have to go to bed earlier after getting up an hour later than before. What that means for the bigger picture one can only imagine. Booker prize maybe, or another step closer to the institution, but most likely bugger all. So I describe instead of a boring and routine day of work which gets no report beyond having done it, I am sitting listening to the radio and wondering what the hell to do otherwise. Because I haven't missed any jobs (all saved for later) it's no benefit or pleasure in it, just the same really as when something good had been cancelled and you had no alternatives. But so normal it's incredible. No point in any expectations as until it happens you really never know. Plus a parcel was supposed to be delivered at 10am this morning. Of course waking me up yet again to answer the door would have had some more effect on my health but these bastards close early and make it very difficult to either visit or call to get another delivery when they'll probably say I'm not there again. Nothing in itself but all adds to the banal monotony of failure in each step of time, where whatever can fuck up frequently does and never in ways you can predict.
In fact though the overall picture is so predictable it would drive some to escape, the details of what goes tits up and when is totally random. Apparently. But again if you look at my diary I had 4 bookings and the first 3 all went west. That in itself is pretty unusual. Coincidence within chaos. But why? And how? The odds on that are pretty long if you look at it, and I really have absolutely no plans and ambitions for the rest of my life now besides going to Hendon and Golders Green to take some more pictures of railway lines. The institution beckons...
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