I moved on Saturday, so this must be Tuesday

In Animals, Break - coffee, Food, Fun, Hautvoir, Local projects, proto drafts, Sanford Meisner on July 28, 2015 at 7:11 am

Delivering a crack to my own noggin took no brains whatsoever. Fatigue, yes, and just enough brains left to realize I should remove the wobbly shelf before trying to secure it. The shelf then proceeded to demonstrate what gravity was all about.

No huge harm done. The bump is tender and about the size of a small plum – thus far, the worst casualty in my move from the chilly mansion to the – hm… the words proletarian surroundings would suggest men and women rise at dawn to earn their keep. A few of them do but there’s little work available which explains why many of the men stay up late at night and argue at the café down the hill. Small dogs like to join into the argument – notably, a pug at the butcher shop whom Cybèle has not met other than in voice. The pug’s barks get on Cybèle’s nerves. She wishes to tell the pug to shut up. I tell Cybèle to shut up. Thus, a further cycle of injustice sets in.

However. Thus far, I like my humble home, even though the walls refuse simple amenities such as screw-in hooks for framed things. The walls have been around since the sixteenth or seventeenth century. Small nails and screw-in hooks don’t cut it, in the literal sense.

Compared to the closet-sized kitchen with no view in the former place, I experience deep contentment at sitting down in this one for my evening meal and watching the light play on foliage and ancient stone walls and timber. Books are starting to migrate from the ground floor to the one below (the apartment is a split-level which gives it the feel of a small house). Three of my favorite Plonk & Replonk postcards have resurfaced: Napoleon Bonaparte, pretending to be a mad man;  an army unit demonstrating the advantages and inconveniences of deliveries by giant-sized carrier pigeons; and the ancient practice of grandfather clock smuggling in ancient times. Plonk & Replonk postcards to form an essential decorative feature at some spot such as the lav.

Needless to say, fiction writing moves at a sluggish pace right now. Words assemble while I tear up basil leaves or get shelves to Sit and Stay. I jot them down, then fall into a semi-trance state combining physical fatigue and a welter of things clamoring for immediate attention.


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