They call me Milly and they say I’ve got Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. But that’s all bull shit.
The Bogeywoman often chases me in my nightmares because I am a Genius. Then in the morning I pick up a pencil and stir-fry my Pain into Beauty. Blimin’ beautiful Art I can make. When I look back at my Drawings it freaks me out- “Did I make that?”
But when the Bogeywoman shows up in my nightmares, I am paralysed. My flat turns messy and the cigarettes actually smoke themselves on my lips, one after the other, and I can’t find my pencil. And then when I go out, those Evil people attack me with their eyes, so I have to look for the toilet.
But there are no toilets left in London. And I get thirsty.
So I get two cans of Coke. Lovely, icy cans of Coke. I keep one of them to leave by my bedside, then shake it before I sleep it and blow it up in the middle of the night on the Bogeywoman’s face.
Look! ACharity Shop. What a nice old Violin in the window. The Coke tastes great. It’s the Real Thing.
“You’re not coming again tonight dirty Bogeywoman cos I’m gonna place pins on the bridge you always cross to come get me”. The Lady in the Charity Shop looks at me with chocolate in her eyes. She hands me the Wedding Dress I want to buy. I show her pictures of my Art on my phone. She is shocked at the Beauty and the chocolate starts dribbling from her eyes.
“This is so good.”
So I search in all of my pockets and give her all the cigarette budget money for the week. “The chocolate was worth it”. I think to myself “Cigarettes will have to come down raining from the clouds.”[sociallocker][/sociallocker]
Outside the cigarette shop there’s an addict smoking, and he goes and asks me for a cigarette! Sword blades in his eyes. I pretend to answer a call. He’s gone.
The cool coffee shop is open and I manage to sneak my way inside, without buying anything, and I sit down.
I want the Pain to go on the Paper. Coffee-drinkers are curious about my drawing. It’s a woman doing her punk make-up.
Oh no. The fat Security guard.”You need to buy a coffee or get out of the shop”
“But I’m disabled”
“And I’m Stephen Hawking.”
“I’ll buy you a coffee girl!” A tattooed man steps in.
“The Bogeywoman is coming to chase me tonight. All night.”
As I drink my coffee, the pervert asks “So how many boyfriends do you have?”
Shit. I see the old Physics teacher’s eyes in his eyes, and I say ” I didn’t hack the exam answers.” The tattooed man is scared now and moves to another seat, nodding. I take the wedding dress out of the bag, because it’s so delicately soft, I can’t resist the urge. But it crosses my mind that the man will come asking for his coffee back, so I suddenly grab my stuff and leave.
I’m shaking the can of Coke on my way back and relish on the thought of blowing the Bogeywoman’s face.
Once the drawing’s finished, I post it on Instagram. The wedding dress is really tight in the chest. I need cigarettes and I’m scared of going out. The tattoo man might be there. So I recycle my dogends. The Bogeywoman hates it when I do this.
As I’m smoking in front of the mirror I accidentally kick my old, misplaced shades. Excellent! I say to myself. I’ll wear them tomorrow and nobody will look at me with Chilli in their eyes!
After searching among the mess and clutter and bad and good memories, I find a twenty quid note. Leaving the mess as it is, I go to the Newsagent to get cigarettes. But the guy just takes my Twenty and says he’s keeping it because I owe him thirty-five.
I show him my drawing and he agrees to hand me a pack of cigarettes in exchange. I am so happy and I feel clever, sexy and talented. Cigarettes never tasted so good. Divine plant.
I fall asleep not thinking about the Bogeywoman, but luckily I had placed the Coke in the right place.
Alerts on Facebook wake me up. There’s Coke all over the bedsheets and floor: the Bogeywoman has visited again. “Milly! Somebody’s selling your drawing online for 900 Pounds! You better start watching what you do!”
I don’t care. I just want a cigarette.
More Humour here.
Caffeine hurts, Caffeine drains you, you look nervous. I had heard it all.
Gazing at the infinite coffee lovers’ options at my favourite massive supermarket, and with time leaking between my nervous fingers, I grabbed it.
A jar of decaffeinated coffee.
” I don’t believe it would be on the shelves if it were bad for you” I said to myself.
In twenty four hours I were to find out.
Because it was only early afternoon on Sunday I packed some goodies to last me til Monday and decided to spend the rest of my week-end decluttering, then reading my vampire novel… and drinking Decaff.
I even wrote on my smartphone calendar a “good news note” about the new change.
Halfway through chapter six of my novel I realised I was getting a headache and strained eyes, felt drowsy and couldn’t take anything in.
“I will take a bath tomorrow before work”. I forgot to mark the page in my novel. Zzzzz……
Thank goodness I use a loud alarm clock, my good old alarm clock from the eighties, which followed me around the world, through six boyfriends and three redundancies- because I was having a nightmare about London getting flooded with Coffee, and people escaping in huge paper cups and rowing with teaspoons.
I found the bath too hot so I made it a bathspresso.
Very proud of drinking Decaff, but Heck, where’s that Buzz?!
“I’ll get through this...”
Work is just three blocks away, but on my way I stopped at the ATM. After a seven people queue, I entered my PIN number wrong three times. Card swallowed. Because I have another pair of cards I just walked away thinking “I ‘ll pay my rent via direct debit like Sasha rightly tells me to”.
We can do this. Even if I’m not quite sure who “we” is, but I needed some back-up then.
I had never noticed there’s a Decaff option at the office coffee machine. Stubborn me.
A call. My neighbour Ted yelling. Oh no, I forgot to turn off the hot water tap after my bath! And we were not insured. ” We” again?
Luckily my boss is understanding and I usually don’t call in for too many stickies- so I grabbed my bag and made my way to the bus stop, as Ted was telling me he had recently refurbished his studio flat. So time wasn’t on my side.
“That ‘s a new nice building they’ve just built there!” This bus was unusually empty so I took a seat and fell asleep while looking outside the window. ” We” weren’t even aware it was the wrong bus.
“Driver! Please let me off! I’ve got a leak at home and am on the wrong bus!”
“Sorry Madame, I cannot let you off til the next stop. ”
“We’ll get over this Stella”. Was I going mad talking to myself, this time out loud?
As I looked right, Simon was there, pressing the emergency button that opens the door, and pulled me out by the hand.
Simon was a summer camp teenage love from Colombia who I had met in the Alpes.
” I still keep all your letters in chocolate box, You look great, just a little sleepy”. He kissed me confidently. ” Now where ‘s your flat? I will steal a couple of bikes to get there, then we can dump them in front of the Police station like we used to, remember? ”
“We do. I mean- I do”
“Do you still have that alarm clock we used to meet up in the stables at 4 AM?”
I hadn’t realised how far we were from home- I must have really dozed off on that bus. That lucky bus!
Now all I wanted was a double coffee, gaze into Simon eyes and hear his stories.
I don’t know by which exact magic art he happened to have some Colombian Roasted coffee, feather dream-catchers and cafe creme cigarellos. But before there was going to be some fifth gear love making, while being interrupted by Ted the angry neighbour who was still waiting for me to close the tap!