Montage Etrange

For those that know me best, it won’t come as a surprise that as soon as I committed to writing every Monday, I stopped writing altogether.  But, I have a good reason – Honest!  I have been fighting a terrible cold (as mentioned in my previous blog) for the past three weeks now!  Zapped of energy, it was more effort than I could muster to lift my fingers to this keyboard and type (don’t panic – I am exaggerating a lot here – a lovely salve for my guilty conscience!)

After finally getting myself registered at the local clinic, I was seen by a doctor yesterday.  His name, no word of a lie, was Dr. Scott.  After much negotiating, I walked out of his office with a prescription for anti-biotics (which I felt I needed) and an inhaler (which he thought I needed). Today I am feeling much better and believe that though I have had some false starts in the recuperation process over the course of the past three weeks, surely this time I must be on the road to recovery.  And so I write.  But what to write about?? I haven’t really gotten up to very much. I can’t however abide forfeitting another week without writing a blog entry, so here is a montage of all that has occupied my waking hours, few as they have been, over the last two weeks  – And I’ve done it in third person for some reason!:

“Oh God! I’m blind!”  Heather rubbed her eyes as she awoke in panic. Wiping crusty bits out of her eyes and slowly unglueing her blurry, bloodshot eyes, Heather greeted another mucous drenched day with relief, again.  At least she wasn’t blind today.  Just as it was the day before, and the day before that.

Later, Heather laments: “Poor Agnes is losing her mind, and Sugar is losing herself.”

“For an instant [Agnes] shuts her eyes, and in that instant the world turns upside-down, earth and sky changing places.  The ground above her now securely woven against its great warm belly so she won’t plummet into nothingness. She hangs suspended from the topsy-turvy terra firma like a moth on a ceiling, gazing down into a vast formless void of brilliant blue. She goggles, half-blinded, into the face of the deep. If the ground loosed its bonds and let her go, she would fall for all eternity, a rag doll plunging down a bottomless well.”

“‘I am no longer your friend!’ sobs Sugar, the words muffled inside her palms. ‘I’ve become a stranger to you, and I hate this place, I hate it.  Oh, Caddie, how can you stand to see me? You’re poor; I live in luxury.  You’re trapped; I’m free.  You’re open-hearted; I’m full of secrets.  I’m so full of schemes and plots, nothing interests me if it doesn’t concern the Rackhams. Every word I speak I look up and down twice before it leaves my mouth. Nothing I say comes from my heart…’ Her palms roll into fists and she knuckles her rage into her wet cheeks. ‘Even these tears are false.  I choose to shed them, to make myself feel better.  I’m false! False! False to the bone.'” – Michel Faber, The Crimson Petal and the White.

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With her jaw clenched tight, and more adrenaline coursing through her veins than she’s felt in weeks, Heather asks her laptop, “Is it Rama?  The Teacher? Really??”    The laptop doesn’t answer, at least not this week.   This exhausted Heather.

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I should get dressed now, Heather thought as she glanced at her clock and registered that it was 4pm.

“You fucked up rabbit with no ears!” “Rubber dinghy rapids bro.”

“Maybe I should go outside today,” Heather said, as she noticed the sun was setting.

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“Tony went to the shops and bought everything he needed for the rest of his life.

 The carrier bags were so heavy.

 He got chatting with Mrs. York on the way home and, after twenty minutes or so, the handles sliced his fingers off.”   

“Kirsten, I think I am in love with Tim Key,” said Heather.  “Mmmm, me too,” said Kirsten.  “Mmmm, me three,” said Finlay.

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Ally Bally, Ally Bally Bee

Sittin on yer mammy’s knee

Greetin for a wee Bawbie

To buy some Coulter’s Candy…

Drumsticks – Yum!

Chips….yummm!

“Sausage Savoury? Sausage Roll?  What’s the difference?” Heather wondered as she polished off another one.

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Heather wondered, “How come I can fly direct from Edinburgh to Stockholm, Gothenburg and Oslo but not Copenhagen?” Overcome with incredulity, and worries about the cultural dissonance she may encounter on her upcoming trip, Heather exclaimed, “30 Pounds for one stinking night in 6 bed hostel dorm, are they off their rockers in Scandinavia?”

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“These little sheep are killing me!” cried Heather, feeling altogether too sorry for herself as she undid yet another row of painstaking knitting. She popped a Halls into her mouth and sucked hard. This gave her enough energy and eucalyptus to push on through and get those little fluffy white fuckers knit dammit!

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“Oh, don’t give away your baby, Gee“, sobbed Heather, her teardrops falling onto the faces of those damnable little sheep nestled in her lap.

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“Drugs,” said Heather, “what I need are drugs”.