I Tried to Be Normal

Navi

art-rock, pub-rock, glam-pop

This morning,

I made a decision.

A brave one.

Possibly illegal.

I decided

to be normal.

I woke up early,
like a man with a plan,

put both feet down
with authority.

Then stepped on something wet
and immediately lost

my moral superiority.

I made some tea
with tragic grace,

the kettle hissed
at me.

It had the tone
of an elderly judge

disappointed
by history.

I opened up
the kitchen drawer

to find one honest spoon.

Instead I found
three batteries,

a cork,

and half a moon.

But still I said:

today is different.

Today I shall behave.

Then my left sock
disappeared

like a spy
into a cave.

I tried to be normal,

I really did my best.

I put on matching trousers

and failed
the written test.

I smiled at the mirror.

The mirror looked concerned.

I said,
“Good morning, handsome.”

It said,

“Some lessons
are never learned.”

I tried to be normal,

but normal ran away.

So I followed it politely

and ruined
its whole day.

I checked my emails calmly,

as mature adults
are told.

Then wrote “kind regards”
so many times

my fingertips
grew old.

A man named Colin
asked a question

I had answered
yesterday.

So I stared into
the glowing screen

and whispered:

“Colin.

No.”

The laptop sighed.

The coffee cooled.

The chair began
to squeak.

My dignity
left through the hall

and said:

“Back next week.”

I made a list
of urgent things

in strict and numbered order.

Then number four
became a sandwich,

and number five
crossed the border.

I tried to be normal,

I really did my best.

I put on matching trousers

and failed
the written test.

I smiled at the mirror.

The mirror looked concerned.

I said,
“Good morning, handsome.”

It said,

“Some lessons
are never learned.”

I tried to be normal,

but normal ran away.

So I followed it politely

and ruined
its whole day.

People say:

just organise yourself.

As if the soul

were a cupboard.

As if one could place
terror on the second shelf,

between tax receipts

and mustard.

People say:

just take control.

Marvelous.

Thank you.

Brilliant.

I once tried
to take control

and frightened
a houseplant.

At lunchtime I became ambitious

and cooked
a healthy meal.

The salad looked
accusatory.

The soup
began to feel.

A carrot rolled
across the table

with unbearable intent.

I followed it
into the hallway

and forgot
what lunch had meant.

The neighbour’s dog
looked through the window

with a wise
and ancient face.

I said:

“You understand me.”

He said:

“Not at this pace.”

I tried to be normal,

I gave it all I had.

I read the little manual

and still came out
slightly mad.

I bowed to the toaster.

I negotiated with cheese.

I asked the universe
for mercy.

It replied:

“Send more details, please.”

I tried to be normal,

but normal would not stay.

So I waved at it kindly

as it drove
the other way.

This evening,

I made another decision.

A wiser one.

Possibly legal.

Tomorrow,

I shall not be normal.

I shall be

available.

2955/7500

This morning, I made a decision. A brave one. Possibly illegal. I decided to be normal. I woke up early, like a man with a plan, put both feet down with authority. Then stepped on something wet and immediately lost my moral superiority. I made some tea with tragic grace, the kettle hissed at me. It had the tone of an elderly judge disappointed by history. I opened up the kitchen drawer to find one honest spoon. Instead I found three batteries, a cork, and half a moon. But still I said: today is different. Today I shall behave. Then my left sock disappeared like a spy into a cave. I tried to be normal, I really did my best. I put on matching trousers and failed the written test. I smiled at the mirror. The mirror looked concerned. I said, “Good morning, handsome.” It said, “Some lessons are never learned.” I tried to be normal, but normal ran away. So I followed it politely and ruined its whole day. I checked my emails calmly, as mature adults are told. Then wrote “kind regards” so many times my fingertips grew old. A man named Colin asked a question I had answered yesterday. So I stared into the glowing screen and whispered: “Colin. No.” The laptop sighed. The coffee cooled. The chair began to squeak. My dignity left through the hall and said: “Back next week.” I made a list of urgent things in strict and numbered order. Then number four became a sandwich, and number five crossed the border. I tried to be normal, I really did my best. I put on matching trousers and failed the written test. I smiled at the mirror. The mirror looked concerned. I said, “Good morning, handsome.” It said, “Some lessons are never learned.” I tried to be normal, but normal ran away. So I followed it politely and ruined its whole day. People say: just organise yourself. As if the soul were a cupboard. As if one could place terror on the second shelf, between tax receipts and mustard. People say: just take control. Marvelous. Thank you. Brilliant. I once tried to take control and frightened a houseplant. At lunchtime I became ambitious and cooked a healthy meal. The salad looked accusatory. The soup began to feel. A carrot rolled across the table with unbearable intent. I followed it into the hallway and forgot what lunch had meant. The neighbour’s dog looked through the window with a wise and ancient face. I said: “You understand me.” He said: “Not at this pace.” I tried to be normal, I gave it all I had. I read the little manual and still came out slightly mad. I bowed to the toaster. I negotiated with cheese. I asked the universe for mercy. It replied: “Send more details, please.” I tried to be normal, but normal would not stay. So I waved at it kindly as it drove the other way. This evening, I made another decision. A wiser one. Possibly legal. Tomorrow, I shall not be normal. I shall be available.

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