Paltry Notes and Lost Connections.

Considering how serious the last post was, let’s have a few things of minimal consequence to redress the balance.

Ever since last Thursday when I made my previous post I’ve had odd thoughts running through my head which seemed worthy of the telling. But I never had time to write then down, and so they drifted away on the wake of the ship as is usually the case with thoughts which don’t find a home quickly. Accordingly, I’ll have to fall back on trivia if I’m to maintain my status as a blogger of sorts.

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Yesterday I was sitting on a pile of plastic bags containing peat outside the entrance to B&Q on the retail park. Several middle aged women walking past smiled at me for some unaccountable reason, and one of them even spoke. ‘Comfy?’ she asked. ‘No,’ I replied, and that was the end of another unpromising encounter. I must have been in a good mood actually, because at least it was a conversation of sorts.

Today I walked a quarter of a mile equipped with a bucket and two spade blades in order to collect some horse dropping I’d seen lying on the surface of Church Lane. One has to take the opportunity quickly in such matters because vehicles have an unfortunate habit of squashing them onto the tarmac. And then I walked a quarter of a mile back with the same accoutrements only with the bucket all the heavier for being full of horse droppings. I must be in training for something. After that I spat on my hands and began the big job: weeding and digging the vegetable plot which was the intended recipient of the horse dung.

(What’s brown and sounds like a bell? Duuung! Yeah.)

It was a productive if boring day yesterday, but I got through it with nothing worse than some pretty excessive fatigue symptoms.

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Do you know, every night after a couple of scotches I have an overwhelming desire to write to the priestess. The gist of the message would probably be something like: ‘I do miss you, you know. But don’t give any thought to the matter, much less ascribe significance to it or imagine I’m trying to re-open contact. I’m even less worth knowing than I was the last time I said that.’ I don’t, of course. Too circumspect, and we INFJs have a reputation to maintain.

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Another odd thing which happens every night – without exception – when I’m on my way to bed is that I remember a film I saw years ago. It was called The Vanishing and I think it was originally made in the Netherlands and then re-made by Hollywood. It’s a rather disturbing tale about a man’s relentless obsession with discovering why his girlfriend disappeared one day and was never seen again. Why would I think of that every night? Maybe it has something to do with old and lost connections.