Monday, March 26, 2007

Mon Plaisir

Today was a sunny day. A sunny day! I missed the first half of it since I’m working the night shift this week, but when I finally awoke I jumped out of bed like Athena from Zeus’s brow, shield and spear at the ready. The sun was burning! BURNING! I went hiking in the mountains with my friend the advertising guy, the footpaths were so packed we had to walk in a queue, but it was worth it. The rest of that day passed like a freight train full of oranges.

When I got here at dusk - I’m at work now - I was greeted by one of my work mates whom I hadn’t seen in a while. He left us after his father died, went to live alone in a big house, his father’s house, in the east country. Good to see you, I said, so you couldn’t take it anymore?

No, he said. He had to come back. It was getting a bit strange in that house. On Christmas Eve he ran out of firewood. It was freezing cold, so he started sawing up the furniture with a small chainsaw. He started with an IKEA bookshelf and worked his way through it. But then after a few weeks all the gasses from the impregnated wood made a pocket in the chimney or something, because there was a blowback right in his face. He was pretty sure he’d sucked some of it down, he said. It was quite a story.

After my colleagues left I sat down to watch the BBC news anchors lie to me, but I fell asleep for a few minutes in an armchair, which I almost never do, mostly because they pay me not to. Anyway that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I dreamt I was back in the army but I’d been stripped of my rank. Or rather, I had no rank. I wasn’t a private either. There were still insignia patches on my shoulders, but instead of the triple chevron they were simply blank. I was carrying water in a Greek vase, and the privates kept calling me ‘Mr.’ Instead of ‘Sir’. It was scandalous, I tell you.

So I woke up and wrote this, and you had to read it. You probably thought it would be full of deep insights and that special, charming sense of humour you love. Well, you were wrong. It was just a waste of words, the old, old words, worn thin, defaced by ages of careless usage. So sue me. I can’t be a genius every fucking day, you know. I’m not a performing monkey.

TIME FOR COFFEE!

10 Comments:

Blogger Sara said...

I love you.

10:12 am  
Anonymous børvis said...

monkey

10:28 am  
Blogger Lasse said...

out radius, blank shoulder patches, out radius!!

11:16 am  
Blogger Mikkel said...

Yes, it was horrible. I felt like less of a man. Maybe I should get my shoulders tattooed just in case.

2:15 pm  
Blogger Antagonous said...

Monkey? I thought you were a bird.

5:53 pm  
Blogger Mikkel said...

Yes, I said I'm not a performing monkey.

6:01 pm  
Anonymous børvis said...

you said performing monkey, i just said monkey

7:52 pm  
Blogger Antagonous said...

but you are a performing bird right?

4:51 pm  
Anonymous børvis said...

Performing monkey you are

12:55 am  
Anonymous ungovernable said...

a lovely man, that's what he is, amongst other things. i can say that, i'm your friend, right?

4:41 pm  

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