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Saturday, February 7, 2009

KALININGRAD: If you Kant follow Schopenhauer, and you still want to exHume some sense from the Nietzsches and Crinis, give Payton L. Inkletter a try.

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

07th February 2009:

Saturday: Yes, believe it or not, ’tis Sarrerdi! And I felt terrible, as though I was getting a cold of sorts, with a mucus clogged head and more sneezing than my constant allergic rhinitis delivers. Yet after a Telfast and ablutions, a degree of ‘normalness’ re-established itself.

I had to take the little people, aka the big farts, out and about, due to Janny’s leg pain, so I was the sucker taxi driver again, not a job I would try very hard to take off anyone. So about two o’clock on this second coolish summer’s day in a row we picked up Pa pree, and headed to Girrawheen where the delinquents shopped and hired till they dropped at The Reject Shop (where Ms pree Inkletter got me on a two for one and 90% off day – what’s that you ask, then so she got two husbands? No, they halved my price again.), Rivers clothing shop, and VideoEzy, before launching north to Spotlight, where they shopped till they were booted out at closing time, getting all sorts of reduced price materials and what not. Lastly I delivered the big farts to Dewsons’ locally, for the final onslaught. At each stop I read, waiting and ensconced in the car, Clive Hamilton’s The Freedom Paradox, having less than three weeks to finish it. I finished his part two dealing with metaphysics, and it was well worth reading, very informative, yet I am also very convinced that Clive is a tad befuddled somewhat in this area, despite the excellence of his argument in part one. Part three may redeem him somewhat, so I’ll reserve judgment till I’ve read that.

I shot outside after six o’clock, having blown four hours carting the little people around, and began my usual summer maintenance, knowing that hot days are coming starting tomorrow for a week. In again for My Beloved with the recalcitrants, and poor Janny was feeling nauseous, as she had on and off all day. She got through din dins nevertheless. At dark I was outside watering again, and through the lounge window I became aware over the sound of the sprayer, the wind, and road noise, as well as the television in the lounge, of what I thought was sneezing in the kitchen or laundry, if not the lounge itself. The lounge was occupied, but eventually I realized it was not sneezing, but severe vomiting, so I ran inside and assisted Janny by pressing her slipped disc back while she vomited into the laundry tub. I had not noticed for about a whole minute, for the moment there is any noise around my ears I cannot discern clearly anything distant. The poor thing was having a marathon vomiting session, with its dangers regarding her back and discs. So what miffed us both when we debriefed later was that she was left unassisted, and neither was I alerted – folk can choke to death while vomiting, and Janny can wreck her back – when even I eventually heard her commotion and calls for help from way outside and out the front. And it was confirmed to us from things said that her predicament was noticed by a third party, so what’s one or two to make of all that? And yes I’m of necessity being mildy opaque.

Just after half nine I delivered Pa pree home, and tackled some writing on the pooter, before some dessert and a chat with my lesser half involving a debriefing about the vomiting episode, and other matters, finishing with some serious stuff that was challenging for both, but important, and quite unrelated to anything else the day had brought.

Back to pooter, this blog, and this and that. My blood saturated right eye is still decorated, one week after it exploded, with a montage of blood, but very much fainter and less expansive, so I can be thankful for that. I did a partial kitchen clean up, and when Missus InklesIhaven’tsleptyetmythroathurtsfromvomiting got up we went out in the moonlight about half one to check if our Queen of the Night was flowering, but no, but my what a big bud you’ve got! (Yes Missus Inklesaucybeast says that to me all the time, but not this time…) All the better to flower with! Surely it won’t make it past tomorrow night without flowering? Stay posted on that score at least.

I mustered the energy, somehow, to go for a very late walk, closer to 3 o’clock than 2, and as it was very windy I didn’t turn on my talking book, lest I blast my eardrums out of my head in order to hear it. I felt muscle weak by my return, a kind of sugar weakness feeling. A couple in a house opposite the local shops were arguing very loudly and with a bad feel to it, so I prayed for improvement of the situation for them – I hope no children were hearing it.

I finished the kitchen clean up which I had started earlier before my walk, and uploaded this diary entry, with a funny headline referring to Melbourne’s record heat today. Then just before seven in the morning I sat to glance at The Sunday Times, and got a terrible shock: 14 confirmed deaths in the bushfires in Victoria during this self same heatwave day! I switched on television, and four channels were covering the disaster, and the confirmed death toll had reached 25, with 40 predicted. Again an awful opportunity to pray for the bereaved and injured. I felt quite ill about it all, and hope arsonists caused none of the fires.

I went outside in the new morning light, and took some photos of Payton the Koala Bear with a new yucca flower bunch almost ready to open, then finished the watering from last night. During my shower it occurred to me that my funny headline about Melbourne was inappropriate given the terrible loss of life on this date, and I deleted it, reposting with this very paragraph added and a new headline unrelated and under a Russian city, Immanuel Kant’s birthplace, now Kaliningrad, then Königsberg. I wouldn’t have posted a headline under Melbourne if I had known of the loss of life for the day, given that I have chosen a policy of humour in these ‘In other news…’ headlines; I missed the first couple of minutes of ABC News last night, and while it was reporting on the Eastern States’ fires, it must have already mentioned the deaths before I switched to the news. I left the room before the recap, missing it again.

Come to think of it, I will always run the risk of learning, after the event, of some awful occurrence at or near or related to the place name I have chosen for a headline I create for that day.

Missus Inkles has just arisen, weak and washed out, still feeling nauseous, to prepare to see her brother Umple Dais, who is calling in this morning, and she is upset at the news of the deaths in Victoria. I had decided if she had got up briefly earlier at all I would not tell her, lest it interfere with returning to badly needed sleep for her after her terrible vomiting episode last night.

I burned my Arcanum story recording onto a CD (all but 10 seconds of the 76 minutes fit on) and enveloped it up to send to Margie Kismikkin at Balingup in tonight’s mail. I went to my rest in that altered state of consciousness that comes with extreme tiredness, and in a bit of a daze at the deaths of fellow citizens and the accompanying environmental and economic destruction.


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