Hergest Ridge

The play list loaded, the stage is set for another blog entry. Per self-imposed contract, the list is short, designed to aid in honouring the 15 or so minutes during which the post is to be completed. With everything seemingly in place, a final interruption: tea spilled all over the desk.

“When the Night Feels My Song” almost over, the desk cleanup is completed. Had the spill happened yesterday, cleanup would still be well under way. You see, yesterday the desk was covered in all the things that desks often find themselves hidden under. But not today. Today, the desk is clean, waiting for the spill.

The day started with the sound of two alarm clocks taking their turns at waking the owner. One was an old Nokia phone, the ring starting quiet and in stages getting louder. The other was a radio clock designed to look like a TV with one channel that always gave the time (not always: after a power outage the clock, in doomsday fashion, displayed a flashing 12:00 that didn’t increment regardless of the hours and days that have since weaved their way into the fabric of the past). The radio clock’s waking strategy was a bold one, for it was to jolt the owner out of bed in an instant. Risking its own existence that could at any time be terminated through a wide range of destructive events that are wished upon it by the waking mind.

The kitchen, like the office desk, was finally clean. A late night Friday cleaning effort finally brought it into the civilised ranks. Who cleans their kitchen on a Friday night anyway? How sad. The only consolation to the sadness was a usable cooking space the next morning. Crepes on the menu, and then on the plate… Tick-tack, tick-tack, tick-tack. Where do the hours of our lives go to, and why are they in such a rush?

Have you ever heard of a Malinowy Król? What a beautiful story. I’ll tell you about it another time. What about “Larry’s Party”? What a sad story. Is this really what our lives look like from a safe distance? If you are thinking “I hope not”, you are not doing enough to avoiding Larry’s fate thus far (page 85). Hope should be reserved for times where we have no control over the final outcome. For everything else, there is some sort of rational action that can be performed to counter the insanity cramming its way into our lives. How dramatic. Pfft.