This is funny. Funny because I dragged myself out of bed with the word “bedraggled” and the notion that this one – meaning this day – I don’t even want to think about: I just want to get through it with as much of the To Do list checked off and put to rest. Put to rest with no one single item on the To Do list leading to five sub-lists. For instance, more paperwork lurking behind the trees while the trees cringe at the thought of the fate that awaits them. (I’m about to join Jacques right here; or maybe the sobbing deer. Yes, I’m referring to Act 2 Scene 1 of As You Like It. In this version, the trees are cringing because they know Manifest Destiny will transform them into Forms, best filed in triplicate so that each sub-division of any agency whatsoever may further request additional information.)
Things I fail to understand: a few months ago, a gentleman I do not know by name took a fancy to an empty tannery building with a large yard. The town was about to sign an agreement with a circus group for use of those premises. The gentleman decided he had squatter’s rights. Took over the building, cut down the trees, ran a private power line onto someone else’s supply, and loaded down the yard with cars and snarling dogs. Every so often, he takes one of the cars out of his lot, drives it to the parking near the cinema and takes photos of the vehicle. Photos he posts on the web with a For Sale ad.
Has anyone asked this gentleman to vacate the premises? Maybe, but he hasn’t complied. Nor have the gendarmes shown up at his door to evict him, his cars and his snarling companions. Meanwhile, a family struggles through The Paperwork Treatment with friends doing their damnedest to keep them away from deportation. Meanwhile still, a glance at yesterday’s news reveals that a former minister, sacked for not respecting the country’s laws on assets, still draws his monthly ministerial salary which hovers near the ten thousand euro mark.
So yes, funny. Because after the word “bedraggled” dragged me out of bed, I had this notion of writing a post titled My Wildest Dream by Lucy. In this post a six or seven-year old child by the name of Lucy would have written down her notion of a perfect day. There were no To Do lists and no inconvenient adults in that day. Only convenient ones providing things such as sandwiches and transportation, where required.
I didn’t write the post because someone looked up a previous post, one inspired by something of the same bedraggled feeling. One where I found energy thanks to a musical clip with Bebo Valdes, Diego El Cigala, El Nino Josele and Javier Colima.
I smile. Which is as good as pushing back, standing up and moving on – No, Lucy! don’t even think. We’ve got the lists, We’ve checked them twenty zillion times. What we can do, we’ll do, the rest will have to slide.