Care Tuesday Less

He was careless. A something he realized later. After the many years in which, while always fundamentally careless, he seemed to the many round him scattered, unpredictable, unfortunate. His grandmother, mother, father and only employer longer than a year all agreed. And used the word careless, rather carelessly now it seems. He took to wearing suits to rid himself his carelessness; he studied law and history and economics and other straight degrees to stay aligned. He took fitness classes to walk solid and straight as possible, eradicating all hint of any wobble, all possibility of a swagger or limp. He remained straight. Purchasing a house with military neighbors either side and behind, at the end of a freeway, so careless trips to the bush always became journeys to the office. And his wife was a painter of lines. All this of course till he relaxed. At 40. As the rhythms of life appeared repeating. The lyrics of the day appeared repeating. He found himself buying the same razor, soap, bread, apples, toilet-roll, bread, soap. razor, apples. Holidays, booked without thinking, the same day leaving, same day returning, same airline, same hotel, same room. Each mark he left; each word he used; each every thing, same. Same. Same. And then he was speeding on the freeway. At first a nudge over, then with fury passed blurs of trees and blurs of spreads of cars. Taking the wrong exits. Making mistakes. Buying the wrong bread at the wrong time. Buying razors too small with the wrong money. Buying toilet rolls too expensive; too full of poison. Going nowhere on holiday. His wife carried on painting the lines.