Minimalist poet, minimalist lifestyle

I arrived at the main post office in town just after nine o'clock this morning to find a notice on the door informing me that they now don't open on Tuesdays (a busy market day) until 9:30. because of staff training. (What did they do about staff training previously though when they opened at 9:00?)

With The Post Office being a Crown building I was always under the impression that they were required to open their doors promptly at nine o'clock...people are depending on them for pensions and benefits.

Twenty minutes later I returned from the market and joined a long queue outside the building. When I finally got served I told the counter clerk that I wasn't impressed with the reduced opening hours. She said that it wasn't her fault; I disagreed, telling her that either she agreed with the new policy, or she didn't but hadn't done anything about reversing the decision...either way it's her fault...personally.

She just continued to serve me in silence.

Does your favourite book smell like textured circles? Do you dislike the personality of your bedroom's doorframe? Do you see white when you stub your toe?

These are just some specific manifestations of a fascinating medical condition called synesthesia. Over the centuries many creative people have experienced the condition; I've deliberately not used the word 'suffer' because most people consider to it be a blessing and certainly don't want 'curing'.

I think it's caused by the brain confusing sensory input somehow. I've been aware of the condition for quite a while and use its described effects on other people in my poetry workshops by setting participants a series of questions such as:

What colour is thunder?
What does lightning smell like?
What do you hear when you lick a stamp?
What does breathing taste like?

I've had some very interesting results and good poetry produced by people who otherwise considered themselves not to be creative.