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Sunday, November 07, 2010

broken windows

I have been alone since yesterday because The One is visiting his sister. He is on his way back at the moment, and I must try to post this before he gets back. A stupid little obsessive-compulsive game I play with myself. Anyway, I have had a lot of me-time and have enjoyed reflecting on things.

Lizz is in heat again. Last night I closed the useless concertina door in the bedroom. It seals magnetically, but since it is warped it doesn't seal properly. I also closed the odd louvre windows that are the only windows in the room. I don't mind if Lizz caterwauls in the room with us, I just really don't want her to sit on the balcony and make a noise right under the landlords' bedroom window.

So, at exactly 4:30 this morning I was woken up by the sound of a cat escaping through the louvre windows. I hadn't latched them properly because I was afraid of breaking the frail setup. I caught a glimpse of her randy ass going up the stairs. Our house is just like a bigscale lab experiment, I swear. You can see and hear odd things in odd places; we can only see in three directions: North, West and South. No Eastern windows... For all I know there could be an exclusive undercover  geriatric nudist resort next to us.

I digress... I was outside on the balcony after giving Lizz her medicine, watching the sunrise. It was absolutely serene. As I turned around to go back inside, I saw the window that broke last weekend in the unbelievable wind that attacked us, attacked me on Sunday afternoon.

We were having a nap when I heard the wind come. It sounded like the ocean, growling viciously closer at an alarming rate. Remembering that there was washing outside, I rushed upstairs to save it. As I ran onto the balcony, the wind slammed one of the steel patio doors into my right temple with tremendous force. It went dark for a second and I sat down on the floor. I shouted for The One to come and help me as I watched the wind take some of the washing, too weak to do anything. He didn't hear me above the roar. The wind was grounding me with leaves, twigs and dirt. I managed to gather enough strength to get up and grab what washing I could, as The One came upstairs to see what the commotion was about. He helped me with the rest of the washing. A potted succulent was thrown from the ledge on which it stands right through the window, shattering glass everywhere. That's the official story, anyway.

We lost two or three handkerchiefs, some odd socks and underwear, soon replaced from Pep. Yes, I wear Pep underwear. It's cheap and not too bad. And, contrary to popular belief, they do withstand farts. The first few, anyway. Sies, man.

So I have been feeling ill all week. Nauseous. Stiff neck and shoulders. Very, very tired. I think these are stress related. But could it have to do with that wake-up slap the wind threw at me?

On Tuesday evening, I felt the worst. I thought I was going to be sick and went out onto the balcony. I lay down on the cool tiles, flat on my back. After a while, I noticed that I was lying in dog urine. You just can't win.

I guess I have to bring all of this to a point. Well, in my reflections in my alone time, I found a pattern to events these last few days. If represented graphically, it would follow the standard dramatic arc: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and dénouement.

The theme of the novel that I have lived this week is broken windows. And, to take it to another dimension: trust in a relationship can be represented by a window. How many times can that window be repaired? Once? Twice, after having broken trust?

I suppose that I shall have to wake up now. Seriously so. Breaking that window is a harrowing experience for both parties.

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