12-05-2006, 11:40 PM
Intro. My apartment is roughly 376 square feet. It has a long and narrow hall. One room and one kitchen. It has neither a WC nor a bathroom. There is one WC on each floor of this house and one has to share with the neighbor. There are 3 floors. The bathroom is in an other house and all of us in this house must share that bathroom. The sharing is no problem for me. It is getting there in the first place that is my real problem. I usually has to trick me in order to end up in the tub. There is a lot of coaxing and cajoling. It is not unusual that weeks pass without a bath but sometimes even months pass will dwindle away without a proper bath.
The stereo is in the kitchen. Tonight I am listening to the album Vespertine by Björk. To my left is a window overlooking the yard but since the clock has gotten past midnight it is dark out. I have a rectangular piece of cardboard hindering peepers to stand out there and watch me sit here and speak to myself. I find that very annoying and therefore the cardboard.
It should be below zero and a lot of snow out there but this december has not been like any other december that I can remember.
I should tidy up a bit. It looks like a small goat had exploded here. I wonder what the magpies are up to tonight. Good things, I presume.
"Did you know that Richard Brautigan wrote his novel 'Trout fishing in America' in Idaho in 1961 when he was up there camping and fishing
with his wife and baby daughter, Ianthe?" Kitchen asks.
"Well, I actally do know that. Why did you ask?" I reply.
"Hmm", Kitchen hmms... "Why not?"
"Uhu... Did he catch any fish?"
"Hmm, good question! Very good question! Did Richard catch any fish up in Idaho in 1961? Maybe he did not catch any fish and that is why he wrote 'Trout fishing in America', that is really something to ponder, hey! What do you say?"
"I... I am speechless, really, I really am..." I reply s-l-o-w-l-y...
The stereo is in the kitchen. Tonight I am listening to the album Vespertine by Björk. To my left is a window overlooking the yard but since the clock has gotten past midnight it is dark out. I have a rectangular piece of cardboard hindering peepers to stand out there and watch me sit here and speak to myself. I find that very annoying and therefore the cardboard.
It should be below zero and a lot of snow out there but this december has not been like any other december that I can remember.
I should tidy up a bit. It looks like a small goat had exploded here. I wonder what the magpies are up to tonight. Good things, I presume.
"Did you know that Richard Brautigan wrote his novel 'Trout fishing in America' in Idaho in 1961 when he was up there camping and fishing
with his wife and baby daughter, Ianthe?" Kitchen asks.
"Well, I actally do know that. Why did you ask?" I reply.
"Hmm", Kitchen hmms... "Why not?"
"Uhu... Did he catch any fish?"
"Hmm, good question! Very good question! Did Richard catch any fish up in Idaho in 1961? Maybe he did not catch any fish and that is why he wrote 'Trout fishing in America', that is really something to ponder, hey! What do you say?"
"I... I am speechless, really, I really am..." I reply s-l-o-w-l-y...