Monday, December 26, 2016

Did a Grandpa Simpson at the bus stop

With thanks to Abe Simpson.

It was the last working day of the year and after a cheery "Merry Xmas" to the nice bus lady in her striped Xmas hat that I walked off the bus at the station where I make my connection straight into the sound wave of a fuckwit with a petrol-powered leaf blower. Barely breaking stride I turned and walked straight back onto the bus and caught it to the next stop along.

Jesus, that was a week ago and I can still recall the sound wave as it crested my form and the panic it sparked that forced me back onto the very bus I'd just so expansively, and seasonally, exited. 

It was a Christmas UnMiracle.

What gets me is that battery-powered, less-insane-noise-causing leaf blowing and sucking devices do exist. The gardeners that swarm the public places of Canberra don't have to assail the environment with fumes of an auditory and nasal nature.They do it because no one has made them trade their fucked noisy gear in.

I sound like a cranky old man. But then I was born old, like Benjamin Button without the reverse aging, with dodgy feet, bad hips, and a spray of other defects that nearly killed me as the years wore on.

Anyway, it was lucky the bus hadn't burned off behind me or I'd have had to wait for the next one along with hands-clamped-on-ears and flag it down with an elbow.

That's life with psychological injury; it's like normal life but with moments of acute, juddering fear.

And it happened at the start of the day.

But I still made it in and finished up my project.

That's life with psychological injury; you have to go on with normal life in spite of it.

WFTW.

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