It’s came in. I have a date and time for my PIP hearing. I’m the usual, anxious, worried, scared, at times terrified.
I have looked and looked away from the screed of papers.
I’m writing this on the train, my head has been full.
I picked the one with ten minutes to go, so I could sit with my bag of food shopping, my rucksack. It’s a better evening than morning so I’m carrying my jacket.
I feel warm and sweaty. It’s too hot for me. I’m carrying stuff.
I’m out of sorts.
I’ve been uncomfortable walking along Argyle Street from the shop I got food in, I hated how busy it was and all the people and all the eyes.
I’ve hated the noise of buses on the streets and music coming from the shops.
I tried avoiding a chugger with ‘sorry bud’ said loud and clearly.
I’m not enjoying people getting on the train and acting in their demanding way for a seat, especially those walking through the train and coming from behind me and setting off the doors between carriages.
I’m trying to look away from people I’m willing the train to move, bleeps to go on the outside doors. So I can be a bit less stressed for ten minutes.
The doors close, I feel the air pressure change. Two men are talking 10 metres away at the doors, I’m hearing every word.
I’m feeling every movement as the train crosses the x’s of the points.
A family burst through the doors behind me luggage and noise and a women lurches near me with her hair and her smell. I lean away.
The papers from the DWP imply I’m not that bad and things are okay as I’m capable of driving.
A mobile rings on the carriage it’s an insistent grating tone that distracts me, then another different one.
The train lurches at points at Shields Junction. I’m sweating now.
I have to move again in my seat as someone is coming right at me to work those doors. It’s like his arm is reaching at me. I’m trying not to react.
I’m not happy, I want this over.
I have too much stuff with me, Those men keep talking and talking and talking.
The door again, the same guy coming back into this carriage. The same things as I hear/feel/notice movement.
Hillington. Over soon. The fields now outside. Yellow, must be rapeseed.
He’s standing again. Why?
They’re talking. Almost Paisley!!
I’m off. 1757. Phew. I’m standing, breathing.
I want the train away, the crowd getting off here away.
I message my daughter. Put everything together and go.
I walk from the station, people doors, moving around, getting out.
The street, cars zooming past. I feel the rush of air, if my feet are still, the vibration too.
I’m tense. I want to cross. It’s three lanes, an old wide street made one way.
I get across, keep moving, there’s a women taking stuff out the Tattoists to their bins, I’m going sideways a bit to avoid her when she comes back.
I’m past her and away thinking how I think and what I do and what I’ve started writing.
I get to the other crossing point, traffic flowing but a buzz in the air, a helicopter, black one. Lights change I can cross. I stop and take a picture (for you).
I keep going, the buzz is still as loud, rotors. It’s stationary in one place in the air. I want it to go.
I get near the park, the pavement is narrow and a girl is coming the other way towards me, I speed up, get to wider bit, go through the park.
Helicopter, Fountain, kids playing, people talking, birdsong, trees swaying and the noise of their leafs moving in the wind. Road cars, noise, a truck over a drain over. Clank.
I’m out the park. Nearly home. The helicopter moves slowly. Still the noise and buzz and loudness.
The outside door, moving my jacket and feeling for keys. I keep reaching in same pocket, I sway, bags.
In and up. Door open door closed.
Bags down, sweaty shirt off over my head. Shows off. Feet. Ooh.
Then the letter for the tribunal and it’s date and time. They think there’s nothing wrong with me…