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neesh
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Yes, it is difficult today. It isn't making much sense. Obfuscation? End of turbulent air action? I think today was a turbulent day. My job's hard enough, but when my boss decided he wants a holiday for a few days, just like that I'm dumped with his work load. Covering his clients, filing his reports, smoking his cigarettes. It's the only way I got through the day. But today I smoked so much I could barely breathe. And this jam-packed sardine-can train isn't helping. As if it's not enough that I'm trapped and fettered like this, my eyes are only allowed to look at this folded paper square. If they deviate by even an inch, I get glared at and people shuffle nervously. How do they even have space to shuffle? How do they even have space to breathe?
Maybe I can make sense of this one: Crow pack peck aimless drummer, we hear? Guess what I get to look forward to on my way home: my stupid wife bitching and moaning, wheezing and whining. I don't know how we got together. She has to taste, no tact, no intellect. She barely understands the words that come out of my mouth. She never thinks. But don't get me wrong, that doesn't mean she never speaks. Non-stop. You've no idea how much I just want to stop that mouth of hers.
I remember I had an idea about perception once. I told her we never see the real world, because only the present is real, but the present exists for only a fraction of a second, and it takes longer than that for our eyes to interpret the image they're receiving, so we never see the real world, only an image of what has ceased to exist. She laughed, and said it was bollocks. "What am I looking at now then?" she asked stubbornly. I sighed. What about the stars? I asked. When we look at the sky, we see stars that died out millions of years ago, but they still look as though they exist to our eyes. She looked at me dubiously. She's no astronomer, and no philosopher at that. That's why I'm the city lawyer and she sits at home watching trashy TV, looking at trashy magazines and chatting to her trashy mates. But what can I do?
Murder. That's the answer. A group of crows is a murder of crows, and an aimless drummer is an anagram of drummer without the m. Murder. I'm certain of it. Now that gives me blank you eff blank blank see blank blank I oh blank. Not obfuscation then.
I think my dad murdered his wife. I say "I think" because the case is so full of holes I know I'd have got him off Scott free if I'd been twenty years older. But he hanged himself after a few years in prison, so it's hardly worth the appeal now.
Now he was a clever man, hailed as a genius from very early on in his life, wrote a few theses in his time too, but in one respect he was as stupid as I, and from what I remember of my mother, she was a fool. A fool who was totally unworthy of him, unworthy of wasting the air that gave her life. He did the right thing killing her. It was practically a mercy.
Then should I kill my wife? Is murder my answer? It'd be a mercy for me, but no, it cannot be. I may hate her life but I don't yet hate my own enough to lose it. Or spend it rotting in a prison cell, which is worse. Could I get away with it? I'm purely hypothesising, of course – I'd never dream of murdering my own wife... but purely as a mental exercise, can I think of a way to do it without being caught?
The main problem would be disposing of the body. I could hardly keep it about the house. Hmm, I don't exactly keep corrosive chemicals, or live near a building site. Fire is not my style, and there are no big incinerators near where I live anyway... I think it's time we took a holiday to the sea front, and if I cut the body up, crush the jaw, cut off the fingertips, I think the body could happily take a flight off the cliff edge and get lost at sea. I could tell everyone we had an argument there and she stormed off. Her friends are dumb enough to believe anything an intelligent man like me says.
I think in the grief of my wife disappearing, I'll quit my job, maybe take a real holiday and catch some sun. Maybe go to somewhere with a bit of breathing space. Hopefully find a little bit of fun, or hopefully start over and find someone who really loves me, someone who actually understands me.
Only one question remains: how would I commit the act itself?
Oh, I've worked it out. Suffocation. That fits perfectly. Another puzzle solved.
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060411
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