Hergest Ridge

This afternoon a triad of cars moved to occupy the same space on Main Street. The results were predictable, the damage to all sorts of bodies quite serious. The burgundy four door had been turned into a trike, the axle still attached to the renegade wheel. The blue sport is now a mini, but I doubt anyone is lining up to test drive this particular model. The third vehicle ended up on the sidewalk bleeding green blood, like an extraterrestrial in a rough New York street.

The whole thing was a mess, and not everyone walked away from it. To clear out the area, cops started shooting bystanders.

The lone wheel reminded me of a pileup on the 401. Its axis pointing at the heavens, it lay far from the crime scene. It was Fernando that attributed a completely different but also orphaned wheel to the 401 crash – the joke being that at that particular moment in time we were thousands of kilometers away from the scene.

Had the three strangers today waited to meet in the same place in summer, they could have spared themselves towing fees. The whole thing took place at the front step of the Public Insurance Assessment Centre construction site. Granted that after the crash, it’s unlikely that anyone involved felt like they’ve nearly missed anything or some kind of opportunity.

An hour later the mess was still there, three lanes of the street blocked by a fire truck. I could not help but wonder at just how much a life can change in a tiny sliver of time we’ve really no choice but to take for granted. I suppose if there is a message here, it’s not to take life too seriously for it won’t last.

A country house sounds nice, but not in the suburbs. Give me a town with ten million people, a home on the third floor on a narrow cobble stone street, or a house that stands alone with no other in a ten kilometer radius.

Of course, there are problems with either which is precisely why I’ll need both.

It gets more difficult to come back to this city with each arrival. For a while I returned gladly, if only for the people dear to me. But many of those people have stepped out of my life – or I from theirs as the case may be. With many others I’d spend more time together on a two week visit from out of town than we do under present circumstances.

No more do I dream of a house somewhere here, on the outskirts of the city.

It’s a new season of sorts, which requires new wardrobe and shoes. The wonderful thing about letting your heart lead you is that you don’t need a map.

Six years after Michael Brown was ushered into high ranks by G.W.Bush, Janet Napolitano is the Secretary of Homeland Security. Appointed by Barack Obama, she’s off to a smashing start.

Her main job is keeping the terrorists out from USA, but nearly a hundred days into her job she still doesn’t know where and how terrorists enter America. In her CBC interview, she’s clearly under the misimpression that at least some of the 9/11 hijackers entered the US from Canada. In turn, Napolitano is busy building up a border between the northern and southern part of the continent, spending pallets of money in all the wrong places. And, like with a bad prescription, something real is going untreated or is at best benefiting from a placebo effect – a very expensive placebo that can cause “dizziness, vomiting and edginess towards minority ethnic groups few know anything about, but most have a definite opinion on.”

But really, those of us who made it this far have learned to survive on placebo. Or even better, just not going to the doctor at all. Misdiagnosis, after misdiagnosis, we had to adjust or die trying.

Getting back to Napolitano, I’m not fully convinced that the ignorance she’s demonstrated is genuine. Her linking of Canada to 9/11 is bound to stick in the minds of many, securing the resources to build up the US / Canada border for any number of ulterior and less popular motives. All this with the added benefit of fear mongering and shock therapy that tends to lead every two legged sheep to ask “how high” when told to jump in the name of security.

First day without an early morn’ meeting. On a day when waking early was not mandatory, I’ve been at at it since 3:00. Ironic, but quite fitting – I have a lot less trouble doing things that are optional than those required.

Kettle works again. Well, it always did. Turns out the breaker was at fault.

After no Internet access for several hours, the day came together at last. Having given up on finding a long stretch of time to work on my writing, I began putting things together in short sessions. An entry at 5:23 and 17:23 in one day ain’t bad – if only I had something more worthwhile to scribble. (Earl Grey tea for everyone?)

5:23h – a stiff tag on a new shirt, sadly one without the smell of new dyes for a minor chemical high.

Instant messenger took on the bahaviour of a persistent pop-up, wouldn’t go away. I made it.

MS Word thinks me blind and zooms in on everything 200% every quarter hour. The contents of the file refer to “lists of reference” in place of menus, “areas” instead of pages. I keep expecting to see “series of tubes” used to describe the Internet.

The water kettle turned itself off permanently when the water came to a boil – refuses to do its job ever again. Can I?

I’ve been working since 3:00h – it’s almost 6:00. I need a drink, and for everyone to leave me the hell alone today. One out of two it is then…