上班後的生活非常的平淡，平淡到我往往不知道我到底接下來要做什麼，甚至上班時閒得發慌之際，都想拜託老闆給我點事情做，不然好空虛啊。

每日每日上班，一周有兩天晚上須要當志工(幫小表弟家教)，家教以外的晚上總是慢跑。
心有餘力念書，洗身澡時得順手洗衣服，往往洗完澡已經半天工過去。

總在不知不覺間來到23:30，於是抓本書上床閱讀，然後半夢半醒睡去。

周休二日回家練習煮飯，每星期都喝上幾罐啤酒。
看些電影，隨手轉電視，仍繼續閱讀。

還有還有，成大與台文館有些有趣的講座與演講時，必定到育樂街吃晚餐隨後至成大某某演講廳報到。於是這些routine，似乎成了某種儀式，儀式後必將人帶入無趣而逐漸乾涸的空虛地獄，儀式後還將長出大大的萬劫不復的啤酒肚。

於是，未免心手眼口成為現實的奴隸，成為只會靠杯的嘴砲。每日仍繼續念書閱讀慢跑看電影練習烹煮.....繼續重複這些routine。





最後不經意成為酒鬼。

一直以來，我極度憎惡所有不公不義的事，厭惡一切的不公平。曾經為此感到困擾，畢竟地球不是圓的，社會本來就是不公平的。最後往往讓自己落得極為偏執，甚至憤世嫉俗的下場，而無法收尾。

如今，我終於明白這討人厭的固執個性從何而來，原來我這人格上的偏差竟是原生家庭所引起的。於是，我也明白了，為什麼最後面對一切的不公不義，我始終選擇沉默。

因為，面對原生家庭，我只能沉默。

記得開始上班的前幾天，我晃到了台南與台中跟朋友們吃飯。

大家得知我將要在台南上班後，短短幾天內，有三個人問我同樣的問題：「妳在台南有沒有朋友？」
我總是回答有。想想我好歹也是在台南縣混到18歲，怎麼會沒有朋友? 更何況臭咪咪就在老家工作，所以當然說有。

當時問我這個問題的朋友們，一致的說怕我上班以後，如果在那個地方沒有朋友，會很孤單。當時並沒有想太多，心想自已已經習慣獨來獨往的模式，應該不會有太大影響。

但我錯了。

記得某天下班突然很想吃蛋糕，路過85度C就進去點了個蛋糕，因為不想外帶蛋糕怕破壞它的外觀，於是順道叫了杯飲料坐在店內吃。獨自看著窗外人來人往，隻身坐在店內吃蛋糕，突然覺得好孤單。臭咪咪又在老家，兩地的距離根本不可能要咪咪在下班時來一起吃蛋糕喝咖啡。想起以前在台中，往往撥個電話給liz寶貝，兩個人就會直接到某地喝茶吃飯散步。平常在學校各忙各的時，也有同學在研究室一起吃便當，後來嫌班上太會拖拖拉拉往往餓到我兩眼昏花還沒吃到飯，而開始獨自外出用餐，也不會覺得孤單。或許是有太多時間跟同學朋友相處，所以一個人時也很怡然自得。

最近想學義大利麵料理，今天下班，碰巧路過義大利麵店，車停在一旁就進去吃。坐定後，人群開始三三兩兩的走入，拿了雜誌報紙，我仍然是一個人。真的覺得好孤單......，臭咪咪又跑到台東去。於是默默的看完報紙，吃完義大利麵，回家。免不了又想起了，在台中的日子。

那段彼此一通電話，就足以消磨一整晚的時光。

究竟是我一個人去餐廳與不合適咖啡廳的突兀(或許獨自去85度C以外的咖啡廳會比較合適)? 還是上班後生活的單調乏味令人內心空虛??? 我竟然前所未有的在獨自吃飯時感到孤單難過，失落。

或許以後，一個人吃晚餐時，最好還是吃路邊攤的魯肉飯，三兩口迅速解決，滿足口腹之慾就夠了。免得總是自作多情興致高昂的到了餐廳裡，再渾身失落的離開。

一首詩如何讓人從哭-->痛哭--->平靜--->心死。

----
The Story Of Our Lives -Mark Strand

1
We are reading the story of our lives
which takes place in a room.
The room looks out on a street.
There is no one there,
no sound of anything.
The tress are heavy with leaves,
the parked cars never move.
We keep turning the pages, hoping for something,
something like mercy or change,
a black line that would bind us
or keep us apart.
The way it is, it would seem
the book of our lives is empty.
The furniture in the room is never shifted,
and the rugs become darker each time
our shadows pass over them.
It is almost as if the room were the world.
We sit beside each other on the couch,
reading about the couch.
We say it is ideal.
It is ideal.

2
We are reading the story of our lives,
as though we were in it,
as though we had written it.
This comes up again and again.
In one of the chapters
I lean back and push the book aside
because the book says
it is what I am doing.
I lean back and begin to write about the book.
I write that I wish to move beyond the book.
Beyond my life into another life.
I put the pen down.
The book says: "He put the pen down
and turned and watched her reading
the part about herself falling in love."
The book is more accurate than we can imagine.
I lean back and watch you read
about the man across the street.
They built a house there,
and one day a man walked out of it.
You fell in love with him
because you knew that he would never visit you,
would never know you were waiting.
Night after night you would say
that he was like me.
I lean back and watch you grow older without me.
Sunlight falls on your silver hair.
The rugs, the furniture,
seem almost imaginary now.
"She continued to read.
She seemed to consider his absence
of no special importance,
as someone on a perfect day will consider
the weather a failure
because it did not change his mind."
You narrow your eyes.
You have the impulse to close the book
which describes my resistance:
how when I lean back I imagine
my life without you, imagine moving
into another life, another book.
It describes your dependence on desire,
how the momentary disclosures
of purpose make you afraid.
The book describes much more than it should.
It wants to divide us.

3
This morning I woke and believed
there was no more to to our lives
than the story of our lives.
When you disagreed, I pointed
to the place in the book where you disagreed.
You fell back to sleep and I began to read
those mysterious parts you used to guess at
while they were being written
and lose interest in after they became
part of the story.
In one of them cold dresses of moonlight
are draped over the chairs in a man's room.
He dreams of a woman whose dresses are lost,
who sits in a garden and waits.
She believes that love is a sacrifice.
The part describes her death
and she is never named,
which is one of the things
you could not stand about her.
A little later we learn
that the dreaming man lives
in the new house across the street.
This morning after you fell back to sleep
I began to turn the pages early in the book:
it was like dreaming of childhood,
so much seemed to vanish,
so much seemed to come to life again.
I did not know what to do.
The book said: "In those moments it was his book.
A bleak crown rested uneasily on his head.
He was the brief ruler of inner and outer discord,
anxious in his own kingdom."

4
Before you woke
I read another part that described your absence
and told how you sleep to reverse
the progress of your life.
I was touched by my own loneliness as I read,
knowing that what I feel is often the crude
and unsuccessful form of a story
that may never be told.
"He wanted to see her naked and vulnerable,
to see her in the refuse, the discarded
plots of old dreams, the costumes and masks
of unattainable states.
It was as if he were drawn
irresistably to failure."
It was hard to keep reading.
I was tired and wanted to give up.
The book seemed aware of this.
It hinted at changing the subject.
I waited for you to wake not knowing
how long I waited,
and it seemed that I was no longer reading.
I heard the wind passing
like a stream of sighs
and I heard the shiver of leaves
in the trees outside the window.
It would be in the book.
Everything would be there.
I looked at your face
and I read the eyes, the nose, the mouth . . .

5
If only there were a perfect moment in the book;
if only we could live in that moment,
we could being the book again
as if we had not written it,
as if we were not in it.
But the dark approaches
to any page are too numerous
and the escapes are too narrow.
We read through the day.
Each page turning is like a candle
moving through the mind.
Each moment is like a hopeless cause.
If only we could stop reading.
"He never wanted to read another book
and she kept staring into the street.
The cars were still there,
the deep shade of trees covered them.
The shades were drawn in the new house.
Maybe the man who lived there,
the man she loved, was reading
the story of another life.
She imagine a bare parlor,
a cold fireplace, a man sitting
writing a letter to a woman
who has sacrificed her life for love."
If there were a perfect moment in the book,
it would be the last.
The book never discusses the causes of love.
It claims confusion is a necessary good.
It never explains.  It only reveals.

6
The day goes on.
We study what we remember.
We look into the mirror across the room.
We cannot bear to be alone.
The book goes on.
"They became silent and did not know how to begin
the dialogue which was necessary.
It was words that created divisions in the first place,
that created loneliness.
They waited
they would turn the pages, hoping
something would happen.
They would patch up their lives in secret:
each defeat forgiven because it could not be tested,
each pain rewarded because it was unreal.
They did nothing."

7
The book will not survive.
We are the living proof of that.
It is dark outside, in the room it is darker.
I hear your breathing.
You are asking me if I am tired,
if I want to keep reading.
Yes, I am tired.
Yes, I want to keep reading.
I say yes to everything.
You cannot hear me.
"They sat beside each other on the couch.
They were the copies, the tired phantoms
of something they had been before.
The attitudes they took were jaded.
They stared into the book
and were horrified by their innocence,
their reluctance to give up.
They sat beside each other on the couch.
They were determined to accept the truth.
Whatever it was they would accept it.
The book would have to be written
and would have to be read.
They are the book and they are
nothing else.

how can love turns into hate so easily?
how can you say you regret in our relationship so coldly?
how hurt a heart can be hurt?
how blind people can be when they lost?
how much will you hate me?  how much is enough? 

but it's okay....I will take them all...I will take all. 

Just if you can feel better.

總是這樣的，非得在幾日過後才慢慢感覺到失去。而這些日子，一如往常的起床，吃飯，上班，下班，慢跑，
睡覺。

一切生活似乎並無大礙，那樣簡單。

卻總是在些不經意的時候，諸如一個人吃飯，一個人逛書店，一個人騎著機車看著前方情侶卿卿我我，一個人盯著螢幕發呆....然後突然想起你，再突然想起我們已不再，不在。

仍能下意識的按出你的電話號碼，然後闔上螢幕，悵然。然後又在不經意時發現，偶爾眼眶仍然泛淚....。然後無事般的忍住悲傷。

就這樣吧，或許暫時不聽情歌，日子就能一如往常。

-------

甜蜜與卑微──給過去的戀人 ◎鴻鴻

我曾經讓你帶來的蘋果放到腐爛
拆掉門鈴，任拍門聲消失在巷內的夜風
整個季節聽你在對岸把琴弦拉斷
望著你的羽毛一片片凋落，無動於衷

我曾經把你從惡夢中喚醒
抱住你像蚌殼含著它唯一的珍珠
曾經用撿回的家具令彼此完整
曾經用火柴擦亮的詩句，一起抵擋嚴冬

是什麼如此容易點燃
是什麼如此難以燒完
是什麼像鬧鐘那樣冷酷
或像遠方的車聲那樣溫暖

把你或自己留在窗口揮手
把你或自己遠遠扔在身後
當我們又各自快樂起來時
即使在夢裡仍將回頭一千次
我已無法回頭

這是新的一天
空氣和昨日一樣冷冽、新鮮
起床我打了一個噴嚏

今晚看電視上撥出的【英雄】，最後幾幕中飛雪於盛怒中不小心誤殺了殘劍，只因為殘劍為了證明對飛雪的愛決定不擋飛雪的劍，殘劍死前對飛雪說：「我一直想跟妳回家。」而飛雪最後痛心的從後面抱著殘劍的屍體說：「我們要回家了。」
猛地劍穿透殘劍的身體刺向飛雪，兩人就這樣跪抱著一同死在懸崖上。

不知是那句我們要回家了，還是手中的海尼根起了反應，或者是碰巧的想起了你，眼淚就這樣慢慢的滲出，滴落在手頭同時拿來消磨廣告時間的書上。那樣圓，那樣苦澀。



曾說過要跟你一起回家，但我們的心卻在回家之前，就都死了個透徹了。

最近開始在台南市租屋、工作、生活。以前曾經覺得台南市是非常適合生活的城市，因為夠小，卻又什麼都有。有古蹟，有歷史，有文化，有吃不完的食物、全台票選第一名的夜市、滿街的二手書店與逛街的地方。然而在這裡騎車上班一個禮拜，天天都被數不盡的圓環，毫無規劃的道路規劃給逼瘋，不知道浪費了多少油錢，我突然覺得台南市如果給一個沒有任何交通工具的人來生活，似乎真的很舒適，因，但對於路癡而言就是一種折磨。至今仍然隨身攜帶地圖，與混亂的交通、隨興騎車的台南人、紅綠燈只是裝飾品的台南努力奮戰。

回來台南後，本來很擔心會沒有表演可以看，畢竟台中跟高雄的藝文活動總是多過台南，又台中離台北近，偶而還可以上台北看看表演聽聽演唱會。沒想到佛心來了的成大，近來辦了一堆免費入場的藝文活動，光是這個禮拜我就聽了一場新加坡國樂團、蔡明亮演講還有今天的相聲瓦舍-兩光康樂隊，然後兩個禮拜後還有李國修演講跟NSO巡迴演出，重點是通通免費。而且昨天蔡明亮的演講竟然還送了張電影[臉]的首映門票，可以去新光影城看免費首映。我私心猜想成大大概是五年五百億花不完，所以如此大發慈悲嘉惠我們這些窮學生、窮上班族。

還有還有，台南在約莫6年前成立了台灣文學館，近來辦了記錄片影展，還有關於蘭嶼的講座與展覽。當時在台中紀錄片雙年展沒看到的遺憾，沒想到竟可在府城滿足，雙年展看片需要30元，現在還是免費的，真是賺到了。

本來害怕上班後會心靈貧乏，結果現在反而擔心時間不夠用，天天趕場趕得好累。成大萬歲，五年五百億萬歲。

基於種種開心的不開心的可以解釋的無法解釋的原因，24號回到了台灣。原本預計10個月的旅程，提前在兩個月內結束了。

因為旅費的關係欠了很多錢，認命的準備工作賺錢。25號第一個面試，錄取。於是當下決定取消下星期的另外兩個面試，直接去上班。真正工作的第一步開始了。

一年又兩個月的感情，結束了。以為回到台灣會是感情的另外一個階段，沒想到回來，竟是為了替這段完美又不完美的感情畫下句點。

於是旅程的結束是另外一段旅程的展開。願你我一切都好。

雖然我很容易做蠢事，並且承認自己的確愚蠢。但要獅子座的人承認自己內心的軟弱、掙扎、脆弱與煎熬等等並不容易。但或許，事到如今把內心的想法寫出來，自己才能真正得到解脫。

一個多月過去了，得到了幾次面試機會，幾次工作機會上門，我並沒有把握住。有時是因為不願意付搬家的押金，或者是嫌雇主不好而不做，因而淪落到了現今的困頓。我太天真了，我以為旅行、快樂、尊嚴、金錢等可以並存，事實證明並不是。我天真的以為我可以藉著打工得到旅費，的確可以賺到錢沒錯，但在做的時候卻發自內心的感覺到自己的不快樂。

上星期四在華人餐廳訓練做白工，晚餐時間，一位操廣東話的廚師說：「現在這邊有好多台灣人來工作喔。」當中一位台灣女生回答說：「因為大家以為來了澳洲會很開心，但其實沒有。」望著她，我心有戚戚焉的笑了笑。

念研究所之前的我，是很容易與人談話，很容易就可以交到朋友的。念完兩年研究所後，發現自己已經變的寡言不善交際。心想是因為研究所太累了，加上不開心所以才如此。於是以為可以空空的來，然後找回過往的自己。

然而原來，失去的就不會再回來了，人總該學會接受自己的改變。

在這兒，發現自己不若以往，並不再積極的認識新朋友。或者是認識了，卻懶的說話，懶的活絡氣氛，甚至感覺渾身不對勁。而會開始懷念起，一個人搭公車，一個人逛美術館，一個人走路一個人坐在草地上野餐的感覺，而急欲匆忙逃開。

以往渴望四處漂泊，四處旅行，居無定所的生活。卻在我好不容易有機會可以四處旅行時，發現我竟然深深的渴望一份安定，不止是金錢上，還有心理上的安定。而我也在初來之際，真正感受到了內心的平靜與安定，這份安定感在以往的獨自旅行中，甚至在台灣都是未曾有過的。

我學到了快樂、自尊、金錢似乎是無法並存的，而現實社會是相當殘酷的。我想，我在這裡的生活夠了，這是給自己的最後一個禮拜，有任何工作就去做，沒有我就要渡假然後回台灣去了。我學到了，人該接受自己的改變，認清自己，勇於承認自己的軟弱、困頓與不快樂。

或許，再過不久，我就會回家了。而我，也接受這所有經歷的一切，並且相信，的確已經有某部分的我在這一個月內改變了。