Bumbling Along

There I sit, and ponder my future.
It was nice to drive today, to get the vehicle home, and leave it in its place for the next two weeks : Easter holidays, what a good invention. We all were weary, time for a break.
I bought some necessities, went home, and called it a day. Tomorrow I’ll have to take care of my household, I’ll write an application, and sometime later I will go travelling to Suebia, maybe on Sunday or on Monday, no stress.
The Knights have always been good to me. I like my job, and I have a good rapport with my boys, my passengers, the parents, the colleagues. Some months ago we were greeted by custom officers in the morning when we drove into the “Zentrum” where our kids go. The officers looked at us, we looked at them – for me, it was that. Nobody asked me something. Some other colleagues were picked out, I think they simply counted the coaches, and went for every fifth or so.
The last pay was lower than usual. In the case of my co-driver and me not too much, but lower, for no obvious reason. I was told, when I started, that there is a formula (it is part of my contract) so that it is absolutely clear & comprehensible how the monthly pay is calculated, and what to expect every month – also & especially when we do not drive through vacancies. It depends on one’s “Tour”, mileage, time, the effort ; hours, and minimum wage. It was good practise and worked through the last years, gave security to co-driver and driver : You simply knew what to expect.
But the customs saw this different. Without boring details, it boils down to that there is now a factor of chance, something accidentally, that was not there before. And it is always to our bad. It simply means that one can not count on a fixed income by this job anymore : It can become obviously and noticeably less. Of course not more. And because this depends not on the personnel in the vehicle – we are simply there and do our job, for heaven’s sake ! – it is a bit of a gamble now. Nobody likes this.
Additionally, it hurts that this change was communicated very badly. Basically not at all, and tempers flared a bit in mid-March when all of a sudden less than expected (and promised) money came in. There was a big “Sorry – my mistake, at all !” by the man responsible, but it left a bad taste. The climate changed. And, what is worse, there is still no clear explanation.
Because of all this I have no qualms of writing an application for a job in a totally different region – it is Suebia of course, as you, venerable reader, may already have guessed – and have no scruples to make plans for moving. I am not totally “inept of life”, like Benjamin was, but a lot of things need to be taken into consideration – and I have to make meself familiar with these things, simply because I am basically a territorial, non-moving entity. But æons ago this blog started when I moved here, so it is not impossible that I will move again. I just need a chance, and I must be attentive & keen enough to see & grab it.
I only hope that my brains are still up to task.

Feel Me Grip

Everybody may dream. I dream of moving to another place. With a bit more space, a room for sleeping only would be very nice. A bit more space, so that I can actually reach my books and do not have to move furniture before I can go through a shelf. And last but not least, a place away from screaming mother-of-the-year in the appartement below, a terrible dumb nuisance.
I mean, I lived out junkies, drunk Russians and party-happy students, sooner or later they all learned to be considerate of neighbours, the people in those flats around them ; this stupid bitch (excuses, but its justified) is resistant to any kind of complaints. Every time I am ready to go down there, another neighbour walks up to her door, either slams his fists against it or presses in the bell button, and depending on the daytime and the degree of noise & abuse tells her calmly or yells at her to shut the fuck up. Happened only this afternoon. Then it’s quiet for some (two ?) hours. Afterwards the yelling starts again. It is time to take action and to get her out of here.
So I dream & look at houses, around here, in other parts of Franconia, in Hohenlohe : farm houses, land houses, Aussiedlerhöfe (farms outside villages, in the middle of the land that belongs to them), forester’s houses, and of course houses of historical value, listed as landmarks (Denkmalliste). I am in no way able to afford one, forget about the cost to make a ruin habitable, but everybody is allowed to dream.
There are some specialised agents, and of course the list of sellable landmarks (Liste verkäuflicher Denkmäler), run by administrations.
Over time there are some places (advertisements) I like to visit again. I notice when prices are going down, when offers are changed ; some are sold easily and fast, others are like lead & nobody seemingly touches them. Some come with a lot of land (forest, meadows, fruit-groves), with Wasserrecht (water law – does this word exist ? –  especially old mills), some are in disrepair and nearly collapsing, others are neatly re-constructed and ready for moving in.
My favourites are an old factory for oat flakes – in fact it was built as a grain storage facility before WWI, so lots of space ; a converted farm-house in the area here ; and a kind of “Landhaus”, built seemingly in the seventies, in an area where normally building and housing is off-limits. The last two are basically inhabitable with little work, but come at a terrible price (the view, the location). The factory does not carry a tag, it is advertised as “günstig”, keen ; looking at it I counted the windows, more than seventy (!) ; replacing these alone would cost some hundred thousands of €. But one could plan and lay out a wonderful large garden, a park even … ach
It’s less the actual moving I dream of, what causes a lot of work and stress, but the idea of moving to another place, cutting some things off, while keeping some that are worth keeping. And of course going through the stuff : In fact I want to burn a lot of things, not only papers – my world is made from paper after all – but also some things. I do not want to take these to the dump or “recycling-place”, “where they can find a new owner” – GOd, what kind of speak is this ?
These are things I possess and I want to get rid of them and I want them to be destroyed : I want to burn them. Even when I have to use  a chain-saw, and I learned to handle such a machine – I want to use it on these things. This actual desk for example that I hate. It’s not the desk’s fault, it’s its history, what I connect with it, all that I want to get rid of – a nice fire would be good. Same goes for a lot of papers – a nice little or not so little bonfire.
Anyway, it’s not in sight. Soldiering on. And of course, when one learned to read, and write, and listen to music, one is never alone, but always part of a conversation, regardless whether the partners in this conversation are long gone and physically dead, or actually living in the same world.
Now, if I only could get rid of that epitome of ignorant brutishness that lives under me ; without using my bare hands, preferably … this would help, really.