Sunday, 2 August 2015

sunday summer rain

It is raining outside and it is hot and stuffy inside. The steady hiss of the tinnitus in the background. Tinny tussi.
No memory of exactly what happened only seconds ago. The son is up looking at television, He goes to his room to start that computer and leaves the the television on.
Things are so depressing, there is no help for it, the help is invisible, so it is. It must be there somewhere.
Clear the kitchen workspace and make coffee. Still, the head is befuddled after dreams of metal shaping by bending, things that no-one appears to do anymore. It used to be everywhere, now all things seem to be of plastic, die cast, or machined metal.
It is strange, this change.
The little cat has developed a passion for marbles, rolling them over the floor, paw-kicking them, and carrying them about in her mouth. It is noisy, jarring the nerves. And she always projekts them under the piano in the end, out of reach.

It is still raining outside, the wife is in bed, the son is at his computer and the cat is going berserk.

Otherwise everything is ok.

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