This is not a joke. This morning. Yes.
Now I feel sore and tired, and after this post, I’ll switch on a movie and bury myself under my duvet. Even if I wanted to read through my “Children’s drawing from 3 to 11 years old” assignment.
If I could hire a ghostwriter to write my life, it would definitely be Jonas Jonasson. I love him. I do. So far he’s written two books on the life of hundred-year-old or so characters. History and fiction are intertwined in such a fashion that at the end of the book, you’re disappointed that his characters did not live longer.
Today came too suddenly. I knew it would, and I had even been awake when today arrived. Still, it fell upon my head and burdened my back. Monday. Great.
When I woke up a few hours later, the sky had a vicious electric grey color. I rolled over to take my to-do list laying near my bed. One outstanding item only. Manageable.
>> Give away guppies to old guy for his grand-son – 11 AM
By 10:30 AM, I had brought Babylove screaming his way to the daycare. I had done the grocery shopping for the week. I had dealt with some unexpected issues regarding liability insurances cancellation (remember? I am soon to leave Germany). I had NOT had BL’s urologist on the phone but 8 times his secretary (that is a topic for another post: how to deal . I was almost proud of myself.
Now I needed to get rid of the aquarium. Truth be told, I’ve never wanted to take the responsibility of owning living decoration. Pets, fish, plants… They do not speak, they can’t just tell me when they need water / food / cleaning. This is horrible. They do not even express when it’s too hot or too dark or too this or that. Children scream and whine and do horrible things to remind you of your responsibility. Pets and plants just die.
But Love is fond of nature. And Babylove too.
And now, with Love busy having his last week in Germany, who has to make sure the pets don’t die out in an empty flat? Right. Unfair, right? Right. Unfortunately nobody in my direct surroundings wanted to be entrusted with this responsibility. You need to know that the five guppies of last year expanded into 32. Horrible. Until this little old man overheard me complaining on Saturday and offered me an alternative to flushing the fish in the toilet: his grand-son. He was in fact leaving Monday morning by car to visit the little one up north. Would I meet him at 11 AM precisely to give him aquarium and all? I would have to be punctual because he had to pick up other fellow travelers: he had just become a Mitfahrgelegenheit driver. That was a long story. To make it short: his daughter had decided that he should not travel alone this long way. What if he had a stroke? Or worse: what if he took hitchhikers aboard FOR FREE. The least he could do, in the interest of his health and the greater good, is to carpool with pre-selected hitchhikers. And not for free, please. People had to understand that everything in life had a value. A cash value.
I looked at the old man and agreed. To give him my fish. The cash value of everything in life has yet to be proven to me. And some TV commercials advertise otherwise.
Back to today 10.30 AM. On my way to the house, I met my neighbor. She gave me the Stare…
Do you know it? The Stare. You feel that something is in the air – a complaint most certainly – and your neighbor’s lips curve downwards. You try a shy “Good morning” with a smile while mentally ticking the boxes of your Good Neighbor List, checking for missing points. And your neighbor does not return it. He/She just stares. That gives me the creeps.
Okay. She finally left and I got off my bike and gathered my shopping bags. Arrived at the door of the house. Looked for my key. My missing keys. Not in the bag, not in my pockets, not anywhere. Then I remembered: this morning I had left the flat a first time with Babylove, and had realized half way downstairs that I had forgotten to take a warm hat for him. Yesterday brought cold and grey and rain. Probably to remind us that Spring does not mean Summer. Spring is fresh.
So I climbed back quickly, inserted my key to open the door of the flat, ran to the hat shelf, stormed out of the flat slamming the door behind me, bounced down the stairs, picked up BL on the way, threw him in his buggy – ah, that’s when he started screaming. Now you guess where the keys had stayed when I came back two hours later. No way to pass the main entrance of the building. How would I access my flat? How would I pick up the aquarium? Was it even cold enough outside to keep the ice cream solid? Yes.
I first ran after the neighbor who had just left. But she had left. She can be so swift sometimes. Then I tried the bells of the other flats. But nobody was there. Then I called Love. But he was caught up in a workshop – he’s always in workshops when I need him. 15 minutes had already been wasted with non working solutions. As I often encounter this kind of issues, my brain works full speed. I do always have a solution. It is just that, this(ose) solution(s), especially in case of emergency, under stress, are not always the most reasonable one(s).
I considered the building. I live on the last floor. The fourth floor. Not that high. A bit high yet. On this side of the house, the windows were closed. But on the other side there was my balcony. And I had left the door of the living room open this morning! Yes, that’s right! I started to smile. Then I stopped. It would be annoying to climb from balcony to balcony with the shopping bags. And I was tired. Was it not even a bit dangerous? I am mother now, I have to keep care for my neck and my back, otherwise I can’t carry Babylove when he’s too tired to walk. I un-considered the building, and the whole balcony trip altogether.
I turned my back on the facade and there stood the old man. I had not heard him coming. Must have been a spy or something in his younger years – I really have a good ear. He asked me if I was ready. I had spent ten minutes considering the facade. One look at me and he understood that I had no fish with me. He asked me what I would do then, and the image of a goldfish sliding down the pipeline toilet flashed in my mind. I saw his sad face and asked him if he had an extra five minutes for me. He nodded. I climbed up.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Ghostwriter.”
Desperate times, desperate measures