archival photo of me being pissed off, on the rush-hour bus in this case
I’m throwing up rabbit terrine in the gym sink, trying to figure out what the fuck went wrong with my week. I got a bunch of checks all at once and I’ve been furiously impoverishing myself through various cybernetic and personal enhancements. I suppose I coulda gotten implants and gone silicone all the way, but I find the gym kinda relaxing. However, at Body By Kris I get, in effect, a personal trainer telling me not to putz around. Perhaps they think I’m there for health rather than vanity, but I haven’t done cardio in two years. Before Kasu’s finished with that and the weights I can’t stand up, I’m leaking sweat, and my stomach is lurching to the door. So here I am in front of the sink, wondering why pÃ¢tÃ© looks exactly the same coming up.
Half a mouthful and rub some water across my face. I’m actually allergic to exercise, but I try. In Uni I didn’t drink or anything, but I did fume a little bit. Shannon asked me to go running and near the end I was wheezing and stumbling like I had the Black Death. Fell downhill till I got home and spent the next two hours sprawled on the bathroom floor. I tried the same method today, lying on my back in the changing room. Close my eyes and feel the sweat and pain hover like a ghost around my body; too wholly and bodily incapacitated to even shower. Just lay there and wait for the sickness to pass. After a while I sorta regain consciousness, clean up and lean myself into a trishaw.
And then the threatening phone calls. Figure I haven’t paid my Dialog bill or something, but ‘1112’ calls like 5 times. I finally pick up and he spends like 2 minutes asking if I’m Indrajit Samarajiva. I ax him to call back cause I can’t hear shit but he won’t. He’s speaking Sinhala and I can’t hear or follow him, but I get little bits – ‘UNP’, ‘IT Times’, ‘I know where you live’, etc. Mmmm, so I figure this is like the usual hate mail except on the phone. I got nothing else to do so I try to follow but it’s really hard to hear and I can’t follow Sinhala without facial expressions. He switches to English and tells me not to fuck with him or whatever, so I guess he doesn’t want a callback. Money keeps saying he knows where I live so I ask him to come over for dinner sometime. He declines.
Come home and realize that I’ve lost my gate key. Hop our pointy fence, the ‘Disemboweler’ model. Amma explicitly told me to never to do this, even drawing a picture on a napkin illustrating the dire threat to the Samarajiva line. What to do. Take a look back and the small gate is actually unlocked, presumably so 1112 can disembowel me personally. Now I got a grease stain on my favorite linen pants. Worst thing to happen to me today.