Ah yes, the mother of the year in the appartement downstairs has reached operating temperature. I know that little kids can bring one to the edge, but this woman starts yelling at eight in the morning and it goes on through the day. I had a close look at her little son last week when I met them in the elevator, and am sure that she does not hit or slap him – if she would do this, me and other concerned neighbours would take action. It’s bad enough the way it is … The lady in the appartement next to me has a daughter (let’s call her Annie) about the same age as the boy downstairs (let’s call him Luke). Annie’s mother now and then also lets out a yell, and little Annie once was happily taking (throwing?) books out of my shelves and running around in my rooms and all. I grabbed her when she vanished behind a sofa here, simply because there are electrical jacks and cables lying around – this living room is not meant to have children rummaging around, and nobody needs fried Annie. She looked very astounded when I lifted her by her dress, turned around, and holding her at my extended arm put her in her mother’s arms.
But Annie’s mother manages to keep her cool, mostly. Luke’s mother seemingly can not. So what does Luke do? He is active and wants to move, and he seemingly tests the boundaries. And he is not a silent kid, he speaks and answers back to his fuming mother. Now and then he does what she teaches him: He yells, “Nein!” or “Ruhe!”. Again: Not in fear or in defence while attacked, but simply because he can, and does what she does. Over time one learns to listen to the crying of kids and to secern whether its a scream of agony, fear or fight, or simply something they repeat or just enjoy to do. Sometimes the brads just turn the wailing on, and switch it off when happened what they wanted to happen.
Right now I need all this like the proverbial Kropf, a goitre, this absolutely unnecessary thing the alpine aborigines develop because of lack of iodine (Ger., Eng.). It became so normal in the alpine region that the Kropfband (Ger.) became a part of traditional Bavarian and Austrian clothing.
I had a not too nice conversation with a friend today, I owe him (not just “some” but a lot of) money. I am very grateful to him, he was very noble to me, but it is about time that I pay back. There was no room for discussions or parley, I had to accept what he demanded; it’s just another bill at the start of September I can not balance, yippeeh-ay-yeah. Monday I had a nice conversation with the head of the bookmines, I will work there in October, and in between I have nothing coming in. I have only a small transcription of a letter from 1942, that’s just two hours work, macht den Kohl nicht fett. So I may look for a cleaning job or for a driving job, like in shuttling special needs kids to school and back, I saw advertisements for this lately. What is for sure is that I will not work through the nights again, be it security or something else, no more night shifts: I do not want to have another heart attack.
For something completely different – Google wants to connect my youtube account with my g+ account at all cost – but I do not want this. And I thought (silly me!) that I had not connected these two things with each other. So I will delete my youtube thingy. Maybe I set up another one with another email address – it is just convenient to have the “history”-button.
After all, what the Snowdon papers show and what google and consorts behaviour teaches, the most important thing a person nowadays can have is an email-address, “validated”. They also keep on pestering me by demanding a number for a portable – because they would like to call me when something goes wrong or such. Ach, come on, it’s just the last brick for the complete surveillance picture. The old apparatus I now and then carry around can be reached by a number, yes, but I basically hate these devices and I will not give the number for this prepaid thing to anybody else – it’s enough to deal with the two people who already know it.
Monsters start to creep in a bit. I feel that I carry too much ballast around, mostly books and what is connected with them – you wanted to read this, write this, compare this with that – when it’s not done within ten years, when will it ever be done? I should clear out the basement, and the two rooms I have here, and get rid of some tons of nonsense I carried to this place. If I’ll ever have the chance to move on from now, I better deal with stuff now. Roses’ bonfire was a good thing – and she’s much younger than me.