flatliner of a day

today has been a seratonin-low day. I am definitely short on the happy hormone. thought to myself that I would really like to take the next five days off and vegetate at home. squirrel up in my rathole room and read Slaughterhouse Five and whatever else I've got lying around with fancy colourful covers and/or strong recommendations from trusted friends with taste. play Robert Downing Jr on endless repeat then when I get sick of it, play the triumvirate of yo la tengo, arto lindsay and belle and sebastian. if in the mood, throw in some radiohead or portishead to bring me to the verge of swallowing a shotgun barrel. metaphorically, of course. wake up my dogs when they're sleepy in the late mornings and wrestle them on the couch and get dog fur up my nose and in my ears and actually derive perverse amusement from having done so. the five days must be absolutely free of responsibility and reproach. if I can take my brain out and store in one of those regenerative tanks in which they stuck Luke Skywalker after he got mauled by the ugly giant snow creature, even better. I would take no phonecalls nor would I entertain emails. The only way to get to me is over a beer -- which must be Yebisu, Kirin or Boddingtons -- over at Blooies or some other bar where the bartender greets with familarity or already knows what I'm going to order. I might take some time to get a haircut even though my hair is already short and trimmed, but I find the sensation of sharp metallic objects combing through my head strangely therapeutic. I would like to chat with strangers who don't know me and therefore expect nothing, so there's no need for pretence or for tiring mind-games. just fire-and-forget.

but of course, none of the above is possible. just a daydream of someone who has to go to work in seven hours.