The ONE AFTER TWO Chronicles
Archive Number 1
Yoghurt.
Fridges are strange animals. They start out containing dead things, but given a little time, they will develop subcultures who invent fancy little words of their own. Mine has. Today's addition to the dictionary is the phrase "exploding yoghurt". ...Wanna look into it, interpret away?!?? Well, I hate to tell you, but this was simply a yoghurt who desperately wanted to come out of the clos--- ....okay, fridge, and make a life of his own. Or was it a she? I'm not entirely sure, and I'm pretty convinced I don't wanna involve sex with yoghurt when I eat.
High on a Hill, Tuesday the 24th of September 2002.
Fluff.
You have about one sentence's credit, and then it all goes downhill. Or uphill, of course, but not necessarily from where I'm standing today. It took me less than a minute to detour the world, and I suspect he needed less than the first leg of Scandinavia to write it down to "all talk and no action". ...Nah, not that kind of action, but perhaps it applies to that, too. Whatever - but don't let me know today.
The key is to lay down and die if I want to prove him right. I can't say that I'm not inclined to do so, and that's just the thing that hit me the hardest. Such trust and such confidence in my back pocket from people who can't know what goes 'round in my head. ...Ahh, the kindness of strangers, but when I check my navel, the fluff is still there. Always is...
High on a Hill, Wednesday the 25th of September 2002.
Content.
Once on my way home, I found myself thinking that I was content. Work had left me no time to go astray, and whatever the results of my work, it gave me a feeling of having done something, having been useful. ...Yep, you guessed it - that can't be a bad thing.
I can't really account for what has happened since, though. My excuse is that it's Friday, the autumn vacation is about to start ... and all that jive. But Friday really could be any day, every day of the year. And what's the fun of Fridays then?
High on a Hill, Friday the 27th of September 2002.
Home.
I can't say that I expected hostility, but one could conclude that I deserved it ... sort of. But I got the opposite.
It's funny, but I don't think any of them could have suspected that tonight was special for me. Or maybe that is exactly why they come back, Monday after Monday - and I am the only one who took until now in realizing it?
Home, I guess, is not a location, but a state of mind. When tomorrow comes, home will be a distant memory again. But I felt it, it was real. It was there, I was there for a precious moment. Heaven knows a moment can't last a lifetime, but a moment lives longer than limbo. And the heart is closer to home...
High on a Hill, Monday the 30th of September 2002.
City Boy.
City boys sneeze. I'm sure it wasn't the hammer, and it definitely wasn't the crowbar ... but it saw me in tears and snot as I was making my way down to Mother Earth.
Achoo! Achoo! Achoo! Oooh, the joys of returning to the DIY instincts of the original man. "Yes, that's fine, thank you very much, nowpassmethedarnhankerchiefbeforeIblowmynosebeyondRudolftheRedNoseandthere'sSantaohwell." Now, where on earth did I leave the manual on tearing down sheds? Achoo.
High on a Hill, Tuesday the 1st of October 2002.
Like to.
"I'd like to", I said. And added "very, very much" to emphasize. ...Problem is, he's heard me saying this before. Many times before, even. And he also knows that when action speaks louder than words, I'm about as silent as they come.
Come to think of it, it's just like banging your head in a brick wall. If you just do it often enough, even the bruises appear in familiar places. The downside to this is, however, a most impressive, constant headache. I think I managed to gobble down a relevant pill in February this year, but I've still got a hangover headache the size of Mars to take care of. ...I wonder how thick the wall is?
High on a Hill, Wednesday the 2nd of October 2002.
"Just another Saturday nite"...
time passing too quickly or not at all chips salty, need something to drink night lovely, but this might as well be high noon toto not in Kansas anymore why anyone for tennis? sleep about time the internet no, not the phonebill again autumn mostly tomorrow work ... ooops, it�s Sunday ... again email behind the wind making nice sounds on the outside famous last words it�s late it�s late it�s late but not too late ... not yet anyway
High on a Hill, Saturday the 5th of October 2002.
Headlights deadlights.
Autumn hurled itself at me as the headlights of the car found their way in the night. Ambushed by the moon, the trees outlined the hill, mysterious and not talking. Malstroem leaves gave way to silvery light freezing the fields and woods, as houses grew scarce and the road narrowed. A shiver tingled my spine as the car skidded, telling tales of a night endless and cold.
Disappointment as the woods disappear and a dirt road shakes me awake. Too close to die, too brief to have been away. The whisper from the past fades with the lights of the city.
High on a Hill, Sunday the 20th of October 2002.
Shelter.
I lock up the house and draw the curtains while the gray clouds sink from the heavens, as if I really could make the world outside go away. If I can't see the world, the world can't see me. ...Yeah, right!
Weekends suck. Not when they used to be real weekends, of course, and I do enjoy to sleep in a little, but now all that's left is just ambition too greedy to be met, and time running faster than I can be bothered to walk. Still I believe, at least for a moment or two, that I can beat this weekend thing. And everytime I just can't...
High on a Hill, Friday the 25th of October 2002.
View.
It was just another weekday, and he found me sitting blank faced by the computers. "Come over for coffee some day", he said. "I get the feeling you don't get out much. Either you're here, working, or at home, struggling over the books."
Tired from the day, with the wrong side of sleep buzzing in the back of my head, I'm pretty sure my face didn't quite manage to pull off the expression "blank". I mean, I did like the coffee bit, and I'm sure he didn't mean any offense with the rest. Only a shame that the 2nd bit was a ton of bricks, compared to the introduction.
And I do hate the fact that he is, of course, perfectly correct in his assumptions. My house, high on a hill, may have one of the best panorama views of the valley, but I always was better at observing than I am at participating. Even with the distance gone, though, I suspect I'd only be taking in the view, and it gets lonely behind the binoculars...
High on a Hill, Saturday the 2nd of November 2002.
Reeling.
The darkness sees me falling apart at the seams as midnight quietly comes and passes. For what is midnight but a time zone? What is not a time zone, now that the internet has shrunk the world? Do you know where you're at when you're reading this?
I've barricaded my castle, postponed everything yet another day. How long will I sleep tomorrow? Never mind the alarm clock - who needs alarm clocks when there's something called a conscience?
Somehow, I should really be laughing in the face of danger, but how can I, when it's the clown in the mirror I'm laughing at?
High on a Hill, Saturday the 23rd of November 2002.
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