The summer is sticky and there are men blasting the asphalt outside but I have reason, reasons! to be merry, la di la.
Number one, I have found myself an abode. Yes. Indeed, after logging a thousand kilometres on my rabbit slippers I have found the prefect nest.
Perfect meaning:
a) ridiculously cheap
b) is atop a flimsy, dubious stairway
c) is within earshot of chirping birds
d) is within the vicinity of true-style Manimalian ghetto, from which I could extract heaping quantities of inspiration and bemusement from
e) has all the character of a starving artiste’s hole, complete with busted shower, toilet and holes on screen
f) I can do whatever the hell I want with it and in it!!! (visions of puttering around half-naked with Michael Jackson turned way up and jelly ace in the freezer. Bliss)
Perfect despite the fact that bathroom ceiling has in fact NO ceiling but roof of structure itself and therefore convivial atmosphere to mammals, insectoids and golliwogs.
Last Saturday while painting the room the sky split open and a hundred days worth of unwept rain came pouring forth. It was too rich to resist. I scrambled down the red tin steps and found myself in a street filled with jubilant natives. Fat men had awakened from drunken stupors and were then rubbing shampoo on their scalps. Teenaged guys were whooping with maddened power and tumbling into shapes and limbs splaying right on the cement. The girls walked back and forth, their arms stretched across their chests, long, soaked hair dripping with rain, giggling giggling giggling. The children ran amok. A playful ol’ chap chased a terrified little toddler down the street, waving a dead ipis in his hands. Sheer, manic life.
I stayed there until drenched and finally cold, and did my best not to slip and crack open my skull going back up my room. I can’t wait for the rest of the rainshowers.
Number two, I can finally crank out Heart’s ‘Alone’ on the gee-tar. Hyah! I’ve skinned the tips of my four fingers raw but truly, an accomplishment to behold. Clap, clap. Next--- Deff Leppard’s ‘When Love and Hate Collide.’
Number three, mon bebe still wants to marry me, despite despite despite. He truly is THE ONE eh? I’ve got to just sit still and believe it.
Life is good, mad fun.
