A very bad weekend

Thursday - 8:15 pm

When I set foot in my house, I feel like a marathon runner who throws herself at the finish line after 42 km. Really. Wandering the streets on February 14th should be included among the Olympic disciplines. It's an effort at the limit of humanity.

After leaving the office, I immersed myself in the crowds of the centre and struggled to the subway which obviously arrived late. Why am I still amazed? Confident, I stationed beside the doors and shared my sad fate with a beggar, half asleep in a corner, a rasta drilled everywhere and two sour-faced old ladies who reminded me of the concierge of the building of a high school friend of mine.

When I managed to get to my destination, I began wandering around pizzerias and restaurants and pubs in search of some space to pass, but even fast foods were packed beyond belief.

So, I started thinking whether it could be better to buy something at the supermarket and cook at home, but I immediately discarded the idea because it is in the public domain that I don't know how to cook and I don't even like doing it. And I decided to stop at my usual pizza place that had a long line but well... there was the same situation everywhere so... I started looking around with an embarrassed air, among wonderful big boys (where did the ugly ones on this planet go? Is it just me?) all perfumed, with styled or freshly cut hair, and ageless girls with very tight skin, an unspeakable make-up and tight-fitting dress that I couldn't wear even if I went on a hunger strike for the next twenty years.

The line moved slowly as the place continued to fill and the heat increased. I was pushed from side to side by smiling and intoxicated faces. And in the end, when I finally managed to get to the counter, it took me another half hour to order because the guys behind me had started doing it earlier and the clerk was so dazed that he started taking orders at random. In the end, I managed to book my nice pizza and stood aside waiting, feeling enormously out of place between tables occupied by kissing couples and chairs occupied by singles in the company of other singles. Determined not to notice it, I confidently withdrew my still steaming pizza. I could smell it from the cardboard. When I finally managed to get out of the place without spilling my precious loot, I tried to hurry up so that my pizza didn't get cold, but I was forced to zigzag between the pavement and the street, because some nice and civilized motorists had decided to park all over the pavement. After ten minutes of obstacle march, I finally saw my building but, when I got to the door, it took me another five minutes to find the keys in the bag and, when I finally got home, I realized that my pizza was already cold and I had to warm it.

What must be done in this world to have a little peace?

Sighing, I reach the stove and put the pizza box in the oven at maximum temperature. For a moment I stare at the oven light, before heading to the bed area to change into my very worn but very comfortable jeans and an old sweatshirt that I don't even remember why I bought.

The huge hibiscus that mom gave me starts staring at me.

At first, I look at him distracted but then I start staring at him too and feeling a little guilty. The poor plant is literally choking in its pot and does not know where to take root. Mom gave it to me last spring for my birthday, to decorate your little bare house - her words -, and, at first, I thought it was a nice thing: it was a modest plant with very green and shiny leaves and it really gave some colour to the environment. But then it started to grow and grow and grow and it grew so much that I had to move it to not trip over it all the time.

Honestly, I do not really have a green thumb or whatever it is, and I do not even much time to devote to the plants, but I'm fond of it, you know? I really don't want to throw it away - not to mention that I just don't know how to tell my mother that I have thrown away her precious gift - so last week I tried to pour it, but after several attempts in which I tried to fix the newspaper on the balcony floor and the wind was trying to take it off, I decided it was better for everyone if I poured the plant into the house. Which I'll definitely do on Saturday. The floor will become indecent and I will find myself finding dirt in the most unexpected corners, but perhaps, if I place many pieces of newspaper on a very large surface, the situation might become less tragic.