Writer Martin Millar: Refugee

Refugee

There have been shocking scenes of misery and deprivation in these parts recently as the heating engineers arrived to install a new boiler in my flat. It meant I couldn’t stay home during the day, as they were drilling through walls and stuff.

Now, I could have coped with these two days – organised to visit someone or something like that – if I was not the most hopelessly disorganised person on the planet. And also, the agoraphobia didn’t help. Did not really want to go far from home. Which led to me spending one day sitting miserably in the local library, waiting for the engineers to finish their work. I felt like a refugee. All I needed was a blanket. And I had to go to the dentist later. What a lousy day that was.

The next day was my day for agoraphobia therapy so I set off several hours early and then just hung around uselessly for ages. Another very poor day, all in all. Though it was interesting being on a bus at 8.30 in the morning, something I haven’t experienced for some years. It was full of people going to work, and none of them looked very happy, which is understandable.

It gets even funnier. Run over and read.

I identified with every bit of it. Even though I don’t have agoraphobia (I think).

Explore posts in the same categories: Writers - Living, Writing

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