Birthday…. Blues? Bliss? Nah work for that gin girl!!

I was so determined this birthday was not going to have a repeat of last year’s crying all over Life of Miss B on returning from India and leaving my heart on the beach.  And with all my friends gainfully employed or travelling, the day loomed long and lonely.  But we all know there’s nothing like a little productivity and sweat to kick in the protestant work ethic’s feelings of purity at the end of the day.  So focused on earning a sunset gin and tonic, with lime, and propelled by well-wishing sms’s arriving from 630 am (god I love daylight savings) I attacked the day.

With Bombay Royale grooving out of the stereo, a load of washing in the machine, and, feeling a little like I was in a warped Sorcerer’s Apprentice remake, armed with a broom and a bucket of warm water I attacked the outdoor furniture.  Who could have imagined so many Daddy Longlegs spiders could live in four chairs and one table?

Well the spiders were eradicated (oops bad karma) and the outdoor setting cleaned just as the Korean chimes signaled that my smalls were ready for pegging on the line.  That done it was a trip to the eager young man at the hardware store for a brush and a drop sheet – this furniture was going to get oiled.  Sadly an unlikely eventuality for the eager young man at the store who one might have liked to imagine lightly oiled, peeling grapes and draped in a toga.

But I digress.  And this is not that kind of blog.  Maybe.  I am a little freaked out that the google graphic today is birthday cakes and candles… the internet is getting a bit too friendly when your freaking search engine wishes you a happy search! AND there’s a piece missing from the cake. Who has been eating my virtual cake??  But again, I digress.

While visiting the hardware chappy I took a dining chair back to it’s place of purchase. It really wasn’t funny the way that leg fell off under the body corporate manager at the AGM, not funny at all.  They are fixing it.  The chair, not the body corporate manager, her dignity is irreparably dented.  And I stopped at that yellow and black store and bought season 4 Game of Thrones for my late evening’s entertainment, talk about lightly oiled chaps cavorting about in one’s imagination.

It was at this point that the universe seemed to think it was appropriate I receive a birthday lesson about moderation and asking for help when doing handy-person tasks of a heavy nature.  I should have taken a hint when I dropped a glass of iced tea, but no I just saw it as an inspired moment to clean the kitchen floor. I took out the drop sheet.  I put it on the veranda.  I lifted the table to move it onto the drop sheet.  I swung the table upside down with care to bend from the knees.  I smashed it into my skull with the force of a pendulum.

A moose is asleep. He is dreaming of moose drinks. A goose is asleep. He is dreaming of goose drinks. That’s well and good when a moose dreams of moose juice. And nothing goes wrong when a goose dreams of goose juice. But it isn’t too good when a moose and a goose Start dreaming they’re drinking the other one’s juice. Moose juice, not goose juice, is juice for a moose. And goose juice, not moose juice, is juice for a goose. So, when goose gets a mouthful of juices of mooses And moose gets a mouthful of juices of gooses They always fall out of their beds screaming screams So, I’m warning you, now! Never drink in your dreams.

Dr Seuss, The Sleep Book

A young plumber came to the door to see about some sewage overflow we had during the rain on Saturday and was most perplexed when I met him with an ice pack on my skull.

There is no blood, just a dent in my otherwise smooth cranial structure.  I didn’t drop the table.  But I am however now done with productivity for the day.  One can have too much of a good thing.  Time for a shower and Game of Thrones on the couch. By the way, if you like this, please feel free to press the like button, leave a comment or follow my blog and make me feel existentially validated. facebook_wall_2143615

Author: Wendy's Out of Station

I write as a way of processing and reflecting on experience, and as a way of sharing that experience. When I travel I used to write email journals back to friends, family, anyone who’d read and risk immersing themselves in my reality for a while: writing for them was a way of writing for me. Borrowing from Graham Greene in a flip of Travels with my Aunt, I imagined writing letters to my nieces, as their travelling aunt. Crafting the sentences became a way of extruding the experience, giving it birth, drawing its meaning from my soul, nurturing it into something tangible with a life of its own. The aim of my blog is to open the world to my thought-children, to let them out of the safety of my friends and family and let them experience the world. And in the process I get the honour of taking a larger group with me when I’m wandering around India and beyond, or just reflecting on parallel truths, thinking thoughts that take me to new places new beginnings. Please journey with me

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