The owners “good knife” took the hit when opening some coconuts we found on the beach. Naughty.
We took the Tupperware that had mouldy wraps in them. Of course we threw away the off food and washed the plastic container. We put leftovers inside so that we’d have lunch the next day. Breaking and thriving.
“No good thieves have pranged my best knife!”
There are many idiomatic expressions that don’t make logical sense. We learn our language feelingling, context is everything. It’s hard to make sense of these things.
You are the average of your friendships. The networked effect, levelling out – bringing down, hitting down.
She sat reading her second-hand novella. A book that she’d picked up from on of those kitch pop-up community libraries. The story was of two young boys, only children, who were playing with the neighbours cat. The small book was in quite good condition considering it’s age. The cover was a faded red, almost thread-like fabric and the pages quite yellow, but otherwise in perfect order. It shocked here then in the last 10 pages, when there was a perfect rectangle removed from the right hand page. Flicking over, as the boys ran along with sticks in hand, she noted the absence of close to two full paragraphs. This was followed by the stories sudden turn towards morbidity as the family stood around a grave and said their words of peace. The boys who she had been following were no more the centre of focus, rather a small grave and a sense of terrible unexpected loss. The grief on the pages was all the more shocking for the ambiguity and suddenness. She turned back to page 22 of 32 and re-read each detail. Neither the children, nor the cat were ever again mentioned, which made her feel uncomfortable and unfulfilled. She poured over the book and examined the clues in the 10 pages that followed the missing clipping, but the more she turned the pages the further the story avoided giving up its truths, and at long last with frustration she put the book back into community library for the next person to stumble upon.
All dips and troughs
I don’t think I was talking about being a gym pig.
I think it was a joke about not becoming a stock broker.
‘Peaks and troughs’, was a familiar saying, terminology like ‘the worm’.
But I changed it to reflect the sentiment of lasting depression without respite.
Today on the great ocean road we ran and ran and ran and ran. It was hard, by which I mean it was difficult. Then I rewarded myself by purchasing some trackpants. I wanted black, but the grey ones were the style and size I wanted. It became less of a basic reward and more of a discretionary shop when it started raining heavily. It was a great excuse to use the change rooms and change out of my running gear and into some fresh underpants and socks. I’m looking forward to a shower. My poor feet are blistered, not too badly, but worse than usual after a run – which is strange. The race itself, was strange because there wasn’t much signage, stating progress. The km’s passed me by just the same, but the internal monologue was abashed. Counting down is a wonderful thing, in that the end is in sight, tracked.
I wonder what would happen if everyone knew when they would die. NOT how they would die. But when, roughly, rounding down. Would that motivate people? Would it fill them with dread? Change the way our societies behave?
The planes going down and the old man turns to the air hostess. He say “You’ve still got time to make an old man happy.” – What a weird fucking joke, right?
‘Ya’cooddropapin,’ he thought morosely.
Looking around at the people habba-dackussing about their business – he worried about the decisions that resulted in him sneezing in a room full of strangers, without a bless-you to be heard.
‘You could drop a pin,’ he said cheerfully.
The office was quiet, which made the weight of his lanyard all the more noticeable. He lamented sneezing as he did all things beyond his control. An awful thing, that sudden tempest of surprise and innocence.
‘I’ve heard that French people don’t say bless you,’ he thought to say, but instead he ate some strawberries and worried that he had become a beetle, moth or butterfly that had been framed inside a case.
You could drop a pin.
Few anticipated the dramatic impacts of the pandemic, and fewer still were in a position to respond to the challenges that presented themselves. As a small family-owned business survival hinged upon loyal, local clientele who were used to service with a ‘personal touch’.
Bang, tick-tock, ding-dong, burp, jingle, clink, clatter, whisper, whip, choke, gasp, joke, cow, moo, cow-cow… cowcowcowcowcowcowcowcowcowcowcow.
This starts and ends with me.
She stormed in angry as all hell.
‘You ruined my life!’ She yelled.
‘We ruined each-others lives!’ I yelled back.
A moment opened up around our honesty; my pathetic retort, we burst out laughing.