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Rest assured
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 1228
This morning wake up to the smell of campfires. For a moment - just a moment - I think to myself that the house is on fire. But it's fine. It's the world that's on fire.
The nearby mountains, invisible, eyes watering, you need to chew before you can breathe.
It's intolerable, and we're not yet even close to August.
Check the news to ensure there are no fires closer - time again to reconsider that flight bag - I can pack everything I own into the jeep, and probably should take an hour or two to do so - and I'm wondering - how long will the restaurant last in this? Soon, I imagine, there will be an exodus of tourists - and then?
Day to day.
Flat
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 1254
The week at work, bananas, crazy, busy, busier, never caught up, long days grown longer, the mid-shift sucking up my mornings and nights.
And the smoke from the fires - a month and a half early, choking out the morning, the evening half-slip of the moon a blood-orange-red in the sky, spectacular sunsets for those with the time to take the pictures.
By Monday I'm done. We're all done, drinks in town, I take it easy, a couple of pints of Guinness, got to be functional on my days off.
Tuesday, my reaction to the second dose of the Vaccine. I was warned it would be worse than the first. The first, a swelling around my neck, the lymph nodes grown over large, lasted a couple of days. This time, it's my upper lip, swells like a chimpanzees or orangutans, numb, large.
The day, attending to trifles. Eat tacos. Cover them in hot sauce, try and balance the diet. Clean out the fridge, eat - whatever, everything, all of it, I'm starving, not just for food but nutrition, I'm missing it all in my diet. Go thrifting - no finds, hit the antique shop - some treasures, but nothing that I want - or need.
(Locks, 1880's, love the detail on the faceplates that no-one would think to look at. But do I need them?)
The weekend past was great for garage sales - or - not great - but I found some necessary tools, and a boxing cushion and gloves which I passed on to the twin bus-girls at work. "Get trained" I tell them. "Foxy boxing - Sibling Rivalry - I've already started selling tickets.".
I don't think they were impressed. My daughter, she'd have been over the moon, but they're a little more sheltered.
The weekend provided the finds, there are none this week in the thrift shops.
Do the recycle, the laundry, the dishes, make more dishes, eat, eat, eat. I'm starving.
Afternoon, sleep off the heat of the day, strange dreams of garage sales, Jeff Bezos, Water Bottles...
Evening. Visit Stormy. Verify he's home, go to DQ to buy him an Ice Cream, return. Knock on the door. It takes him 10 minutes to answer. And he answers, the door closed, just enough for him to slip through, but the air!!! Who will know when he's dead? The smell, already it's as if he's died. And it must penetrate the neighbors suites...
Sit for a bit. He's out of it, was interrupted, answered with a clutch of scrolls half completed, he complains about the ice cream, about everything, the time I visit, and I've no patience for it, these days off are too rare to be here, in this heat, with him complaining about the ice cream that's melting in the front of his scooter, and I'm off...
Home, watch "Ong-Bak", "Rick and Morty", but nothing excites me. The job, the schedule, it's flattened me, I need out of myself in a big way and there's nothing that's doing it. I'm flat. Flat like I've been steamrolled, flat in that all the colorful bits of me, my curiosity, creativity, they're kaput.
Today much the same. A few of the farther flung thrift shops - no finds, or perhaps there were, only my mood has blinded me.
There are endless trifles to be dealt with, my benefits, chores, there would be - on less grey days - prospecting to be done, socializing, but I'm self conscious about my lip (in the morning, the entire face, but over the day it drains and disperses), and I'm flat. Without any ambition other than survival - 7 weeks to go, and 2 weeks to cross the summit - the August Long Weekend - this is becoming a long - the longest - summer ever.
I make plans. There's a party in the valley - August 21 - I get tickets. Me, the kids. Maybe they'll make it, maybe they won't - but it's something to look forward to regardless.
And I brood upon my writing - projects outstanding, art projects, there's a hundred ways to constructively fill my time - but I'm exhausted.
There's a rumor of a new waitress, she's due to start, train, if she starts - if - my schedule might get a little more reasonable, survivable - but that's a big IF. We've hired dozens in the past few years - few have had any skills. Fewer have lasted. Still -
This job - like the Italian place - it's the monkey's paw - you have to get someone else to take it before you can be free of it's curse - and I'm thinking that it's too late, it's done it's number on me.
Anyways, that catches me up, more or less, to the present.
Ong-Bak
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Film
- Hits: 1029
Movie night, watched "Ong-Bak" - Thai martial arts film about a villager sent to retrieve a stolen Buddha's head.
Largely "Meh", although with good fight scenes - but - overall could have missed it.
That said, the depiction of the ex-pats - English, Australian, Americans & other - living in Bangkok - was rather illuminating. Exactly what you'd expect, if you thought about it, only I'd never thought about it and so was intrigued to see it depicted from a local perspective.
Which made me question if I'd ever want to visit Thailand - I mean - given all the Westerners that have gone before - and the reputation they've blazed - maybe find a different holiday destination...but - where in the world have we not stained our reputation?
Garage Sales & Herkimer Diamonds
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1679
I'm on my way to a garage sale in Nelson-not-Nelson. It's Nelson, but it's somewhere else, I'm not sure, a combination of Hampstead & Portabello Road in London, every grown in-attractive neighborhood I've ever visited...
The garage sale, I'd followed the sign and parked, but I'd already been to this one, it's been picked over, still, rummage again through a few bins, find a few trifling finds...
Outside, there's a brick wall beside a sidewalk with vendors set up. I go over, look above, see the glitter of Mica, begin to dig and...
...uncover a vein of mica schist, silver and glittery, and falling out of it are these chunky Herkimer diamonds, big double-terminated quartz crystals, I fill my arms...
Now I'm looking for my jeep, only it seems to have disappeared and I can't remember where I parked it, up side streets - there's old cars stuffed in overgrown balconies, not my jeep, and I'm looking and looking...
Back to the garage sale, through the house, there's an exit on the other side, only they've closed it and I've got to find my way around...
Finding my way, finding my way, someone is digging in the vein that I exposed, the jeep, it isn't there, must have been towed goddamn-it, but there's the vein of mica to be dug, right in town, and I can't wait to get back and dig it all up...
(weird dreams. And there was another, something about bottled water and Jeff Bezos, but - thankfully, I forget...)
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