banana skins

I do silly things, like allowing myself to nod off on the sofa while watching a DVD, and sleeping there until 3 am. When I'm studying or out on an errand, I like the time involved to be in neat units: an hour, an hour and a half.

During a dismal romantic period of my life, when Valentine's Day arrived, I was so not up to hearing people at work talk about the cards they'd received, that the evening before, I scattered some brown and white envelopes on the carpet by the front door, so that when I left for work, I wouldn't be confronted by an empty piece of carpet thus confirming no-one fancied me enough to send a card. When I returned to the privacy and emotional space of my flat, I could then square up to the truth as I replaced those empty, unaddressed envelopes in their box file.








In terms of bizarre behaviours, though, I think the star activity must be awarded to something I did as a nine or ten year old girl. I don't know how long this phase lasted and I've never attempted to analyse it myself or with anyone else. I would eat a banana in my bedroom, and instead of disposing of the skin in the bin, would put it in a leather writing case and shut the lid. One day, though, this practice came to an abrupt end. I opened the writing case and screamed at the sight of 'furry' banana skins, ran through to my parents' bedroom, shouting 'There's a mouse'. Further inspection revealed no live or dead rodents, just mouldy banana skins.









I don't consider myself original in any of my tastes, preferences, writing ideas. Anything I come up with has always been thought of/done before. But I wonder if the banana skin collecting practice is unique. Any interpretations welcomed.

Eccentrically yours


Jane