Nightingales are loud. And terribly loquacious. They start their gossiping around 22:00 / 22:30, and keep on and on and on. Everybody likes a bit of chit-chat now & then, but they simply do not stop before 04:30 – and that’s the time for the others to wake up – and greet the sun with their lovely chirping : Rrrattengift her !
I can’t help, but women in their fifties, with hair dyed red, heavily tattooed fore arms, and Saxonian dialect, make me run for the hills. I thought about what triggers my sense of imminent danger, and finally concluded that it is this terrible accent. One can not discern whether these barely understandable utterances are friendly, scornful, or openly hostile. So it’s a communication problem, as mostly.
I walked through the city yesterday, came in the rain, and hence suffer from a headache & heavy snurfeling today. Tomorrow I have to go and collect a vehicle, these crazy Knights expect me to actually work : MAdness !
Things must be really difficult when I am asked to join a parish council. “Just one monthly meeting, a little assisting in the service …” GOd alone may know when I participated in a Protestant church service for the last time ? In fact I have other plans, I want to move away from here, not become member of the local parish committee. I become more & more catholic anyway.
Time for a cup of hot nettle tea. And some arm chair travelling : Siberia Invites You ! Truly irresistible. And a bonkers sound track. See you in Magadan (Ger., Eng.) …
Today it’s raining only once, non stop that is. We saw some misguided snowflakes this morning, and I swear it was graupel in the early afternoon. Interesting word, Graupel. I can not find an ethymology. Is it named after Herr GRAUPEL, a 17th century early meteorologist and polyhistor, who first described the phenomenon ? Is there a connection to “Graupe”, what my dictionaire translates a “pearled barley”, possibly because of form & consistence ? Strange things fall from the sky. In earlier days the incision for a operation was sewn together, and after some time the threads or stitches had to be removed. Later came self solving stitches. Today they use metal clamps or staples – looks a bit zusammen getackert. On leaving the hospital one receives a sterile Klammerentferner (like this) for the family doctor to remove the metal pieces. Works astoundingly well, fast, and nearly payne free. As I was told. Less payne free was the time and lives of Franconian kings of the Merovingian kind. The Germanic states of the 6th to 7th century saw a lot of violence, but “crime, atrocity, and vice” had a special extent in the Merovingian house. “Cruelty, treason, murder, adultery, incest, and alcohol abuse was commonplace for the Merovingians (and part of their nobility)”. Goodness. Whatever it takes to found a Reich. Time to peel potatoes now. Sorry, no music from the 7th century.
Sorry, no Sunday Music this time. Quite a time since I started a day with two cigarettes over coffee for breakfast. I am in Suebia and waiting for the call from the hospital. See you later.
I found myself on a “Treppenabsatz”, a landing, lying flat, busily waving / fighting with a white textile thing (either a shirt or a towel ; I remember to have taken off a white shirt earlier) against some thing coming up the stairs. The wood was of light colour, and I will recognise the house when I’ll be in it ; I never saw it from the outside, and it was not “familiar”, the whole things cries future déjà vu. I woke up from making a noise, and I do not know whether I was screaming because of the futility of my efforts, or because some thing was there to get me. I lay on my front. When I opened my eyes I first realised the darkness, then the ache in my right arm, and for a moment I thought that something was behind me, to my left. I pulled myself up, there was of course nothing but the door to my sleeping room. I felt no presence, that is something different. So I rearranged myself, and went back to sleep, just to find myself on that landing again, this time standing. From this point onwards on I remember nothing. There are only very few dreams that stay with me, just two in the end. One in which I died, one in which I (very likely) killed a man. Other dreams I wrote about here on this blog, were only re-called, when I searched through these texts, but I had them forgotten. This new one, now more than two weeks old, has the potential to stay with me, especially because I “know” that I will one day see this house / place.
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The job is the job, is the job. I am just the stand-in for two guys, who share this route ; both made too much hours (and money) for their contract ; they are retired, and can earn only a certain amount of money in a month before the taxman hits heavily. I am now familiar with the actual drive, I connected with the people I shuttle around. Basically the next week (only four working days) will be as it should be, in my routine. Then comes Easter, I will have a few days off afterwards, and then I’ll be given something new to start with. Some of my actual passengers are pretty special. What made me think, and a bit sad, is the very good feedback I got from the professional carers (emphasis on “professional”. I have absolutely no education / training in this respect, I am just the bloody driver.) for dealing with my special passengers. One or two handlers already said that they’ll miss me. If this is not just buttering me up, it leaves my colleagues in less than flattering light. Both guys are ex-lorry drivers (hence qualified for driving a kind of bus around), handicapped adults are not necessary in their range of experience. Not in mine too, but I have dealt with special needs humans, with special needs children, for nearly ten years. My approach may be a bit different. Anyway, I’ll go where my dispatcher sends me, and I know that I can return to this place with good feelings. It is btw interesting (and a bit gut-warming) to see that we old idiots, who worked with them children at the ZfK, and stayed with The Knights, keep together in a certain way. You recognise one, when you see one.
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So I blabbed about the occasional bad dream, about my boring job, is there something else underwhelming left ? I doubt. Here is the Pylon of the Month. Music ? Take a drip, by Hugh Le CAINE (1914-1977) (Eng.).
63 mago 