The Key

Do you know what is a really awful feeling?
Where is my key.

Not really as bad as being thrown out of the drama room by power hungry cleaning folk.

But nevertheless, rather rattling.

Also, when you are on a bus and suddenly...
you're in the countryside.
And you think, "I don't live in the countryside."

I put a link to this on Facebook and it said Similar Pages and the Similar Page was called "Bitching: If you don't get it out it will kill you".
Which I didn't really think was similar to me rambling on about public transport and inexpensive home delivered products at all.

I had the idea that maybe I should transgress into the digital era and type my writings and save them to some sort of Internet page that no-one reads, so's not to lose them all in a terrible fire or a notorious flood or a rampant tornado. But then I would miss out on waking up every morning with spiral-bound marks indented into my face. And it would be too much of an effort to transfer serviette/back of receipt/baking paper scenes into the wondrous world of wide web. It's much easier to leave them lying all over my floor and then have to suddenly get up at 2.26 am to search through them all in order to find out if Anthon actually had mentioned earlier how long he spent hiding in Estonia.
Dates. Why do I have to include dates? They force me to match things up in a logical way.
That's the problem when you decide to write a "screenplay" that takes place from 2011 to 2044, in a sporadic time sequence.
Oh no, no, no I couldn't do it by means of typing, then I would have to mention who was speaking instead of just using different handwriting.
I've realised this is actually a pretty useful idea because when you flick back through your aforementioned spiral bound book to find some aforementioned aforementioned dates, how often does that word come up so frequently, you can quite easily tell who was doing the going ons on each page.
I really enjoy talking to myself.
Maybe a better idea would just be to type up the scene ideas I am currently working on and then I could remember if an horrendous natural disaster occurred.
-X. and B. are driving to the Christian show after having cunned (?) the tickets out of the surprisingly right-winged atheists who were planning to thwart the event. They discuss the merits of the new biologist on the scene and if their relationship is consistent with what others perceive as romance and they are just unaware of this as a result of their lack of normality. (2011)
-B. and C. both spend a lot of time not mentioning that he had an extensive article written about him in the country's leading newspaper and didn't tell his mother. (2035)
-E. flees Sweden and gets a room at the Immigration Department. He confesses to X. what has lead him 10563 miles away from home. No, probably four hundred or so extra from home. 10563 miles away from.. I didn't give his ex-lover a name, did I? I also need to think of a better analogy than, "He used me like a handbag". Because that's just ridiculous. And men don't have handbags. And I can't say, "He used me like a satchel", because those I associate with carrying around a lot of superfluous textbooks and booklets. God you would think at this age I wouldn't need to fill out booklets anymore. X. relays to E. his brother's experiments. (2018)
-G. is magnetised to B.'s image and quickly forms a strong sense of infatuation. X. finds this to be both hilarious and frighteningly attractive, as do the other inhabitants of the I.D. (2011)
-G. questions G. over how she can have such polar opposite opinions of he and his twin brother X. (2018, 19)

I think that's enough talking to myself for now.