EXHAUSTING

Sitting in Zazu’s, a new cafe open on Stokes Croft although it’s address, Jamaica Street, was written on the label of a parcel on the counter in front of which I waited to be served behind two women with five children each wanting a complex variation of a hot chocolate drink.
I managed not to let my irritation flourish, which for me was an achievement. Earlier in the day I’d told someone I reckoned angry was my default position, I live with it, the emotion part of my everyday experience, it lives with me, always ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. I rant myself to sleep and wake with a scowl. It’s exhausting.