The shit blog of Paul Chris Jones

Dear Diary. It’s the last day of the holiday. Early morning. I have to go get the rental car. For reasons, this involves first taking a bus all the way to Girona.

"I want to come with you!" whines 3-year-old.

"No, Daddy has to go on the bus now, to go pick up the rental car," says Girlfriend.

But 3-year-old doesn't give a shit about any of that. "I want to come with you!" he says again, in a slightly whinier tone.

"What if we watch Peppa Pig?" says Girlfriend.

“Yeah!” says 3-year-old. Immediately he forgets all about coming with me and heads straight for the TV.

I walk out of the apartment and down past the beach. There are only a few people. It’s 8:50 am. One man is fully dressed and doing yoga next to the shore. There isn't anyone taking photos of him so I'm not sure why he's doing yoga there. If it isn't for Instagram, then for what?

Outside of a school, there is a man dressed as Sesame Street's Cookie Monster. It feels like I’m in a dream. The Cookie Montster is dancing to high-energy Catalan pop music, Junts Som Invencibles by Bipolar if you want to know. Kids are going into the school. The Cookie Monster asks for a low five and a kid gives it to him. I’m guessing it’s a casal (summer camp) because it’s the end of august and still too soon for kids to go back to school.

I wonder if the man in the Cookie Monster costume feels like he's achieved his life dream. I tell you what, I wouldn't mind having a job dressing up as the Cookie Monster. As long as it was only for an hour, that is, and if there were free cookies.

*****

I'm back in Girona. I put my key in the apartment door and turn. I'm scared. Not for me, but for the plants. They've had ten days without water. They'll all be dead.

I check on the plants and brace myself for the horror. But miraculously, they're all still alive. And not just alive: thriving, even. It just goes to show: plants, like people, can surprise you.

I drive back to Sant Feliu to go pick up Girlfriend and 3-year-old. On the way, I listen to a playlist of my favourite music. But the music doesn't make me emotional anymore. I've become a 30-something and dead inside. Usually, I'd listen to the music and feel things: angst, excitement, hope, sadness, and other more complicated emotions that have no name. But now: nothing. I don't know if it's age or becoming a parent that's robbed me of emotion.

I pick up Girlfriend and 3-year-old. We drive back to Girona. When Girlfriend gets home, she says, "Paul, there's something weird in the bin."

"Oh yeah, I saw that. I think it's seeds?"

There are weird tiny seed-like things all over the inside of the bin. They're white and about the same size and shape as grains of rice.

Then I notice some of them moving.

It's like a horror film. I feel a wave of terror wash over my arms and chest. I jump back, disgusted and afraid.

"Maggots!" I yell loud enough for the neighbours to hear. "The inside of the bin is covered in maggots!"

Most of the maggots seem dead because they're tiny, shrivelled and still.

Still, I'm not taking any chances. I throw the entire thing out, bin bag, bin and all.