As has become custom, my love-hate relationship with the pigeons on my window sill continues; they love to irritate me to within an inch of my sanity and I hate them for trying to befriend me. The united voice choir of pigeons (U.V.C.P.) is at it again and they seem to have recruited a fleet-footed tap-dancing raven that is without a doubt as tone -deaf as a severely inebriated man. I awake to the cacophony of poorly coordinated, discordant though slightly harmonious cooing of pigeons accompanied by an inexplicable tap-dance by the newest recruit to the band. The cawing of that infernal creature I cannot stand and after running out of objects to throw at the window in a seemingly lost battle at chasing them away, I surrender to the ‘music’ and kiss my slumber away.
It’s yet another grouchy morning; not that I have anything against the morning but this has gone on long enough and besides, I haven’t really had much sleep of late and early mornings are great for this but alas the U.V.C.P. has other ideas.
Spring is a great season I daresay.
It’s apparently the season of life and love; trees awaken from months of slumber and grow some leaves to cover their bare sides; flowers bloom and fill the air with sweet scents of breed after breed that can be quite invigorating and intoxicating at a go; bees in abundance as they spread around pollen from flower to flower in reckless abandon occasionally smashing into all and sundry as they buzz around; even the fowls seem much happier with general warmer temperatures and make a point to show you as they splash around in ponds and canals all over the place.
For all these creatures of the earth, I have nothing but joy and envy save for one. I wouldn’t have a problem if they just minded their own business but they don’t now do they? Flying around, darting in and out, biting here and there and moving on as if it’s their right to do so. Yes, these are more tenacious than any I have ever seen. Sleep has become a thing of the past; counting sheep has been replaced with counting them.
They buzz, dart, bite they fly off. Hybrid too they have become, I can attest to this. They are organised, fearless and ruthless. I can almost swear that they now work in teams; some to lift the blankets and sheets covering my head and the rest to attack the top of my head. It sounds ridiculous but I can almost swear I have seen them do this, almost accidentally. I once woke up in a start only to find my blanket hovering strangely above my head but dismissed it as a confused dream and went back to sleep. However, shock on me when I awoke the next morning to find a set of bites on my forehead. Indeed, hybrid they have become and quashed they must be.
So yes I love spring and all the attendant life it brings along but I still stand by my assertion, hybrid mosquitoes must be quashed and I shall lead the campaign. Feel free to join me!
Monday, May 25, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Chronicles of a timewaster
It has been claimed in the past that the sunrise has got to be the single most beautiful and breathtaking events on this earth. The promise of a new day, a new-lease on life, a new set of dreams, hope and expectations casting away all disappointments and failures of yesterday. A dawn to new life and new hope. But alas, this phenomenon is but for a few to witness.
A discordant yet harmonious sing-song and incoherent beat wakes me up with a start. I do not dare look at the time for I know deep down in my bones it is yet too early to awaken. It has been like this for days on end; a discordant yet it persists; you would think the repeated threats would have taught them by now but alas. The United Voices Choir of Pigeons with inexplicable pecking on my windows is not the ideal way to begin a day but apparently it is to them. As has become our fair tradition, the pigeons and I, I find some object to hurl at the window and away they go; the games have just began.
I roll back into bed and face the wall in my struggle to return to sleep. This can never reach the ears of the president of the association of couch-potatoes, malingerers, posers and layabouts (A.C.M.P.L.). He should never know that a co-founder of this exclusive club was awake at the time of the birds. In time I disappear to a land of dreamless slumber in pursuit of the ideals that this exclusive club has tried to impart upon me.
When I finally awake, a little past the hour for any normal human to be asleep, the day is well into its development; having just run right by teenage and fast headed toward adulthood. Awake though far from alert, I stare at the ceiling and mind-numbingly count and recount the boards that make up my ceiling. I just might have to eventually leave my bed but in that light maybe I should stay a bit more; the census on my toes is yet to be completed for the umpteenth time.
Breakfast is a meal I have failed to indulge in for quite a while now. With rules set forth to live up to by the order it was hard not to. To the kitchen indeed to cook up a storm; yes this is the life of a malingerer. Eat, sleep, eat some more, sleep a little more then just be. Brunch once done, I was ready for all sorts of activities time wasting. As is stated in the creed of the ACMPL, I turned on the television and flipped through here and there. It was standard procedure, irrespective of all other activities time wasting.
It was time to switch off my brain; mental activity was against all that was adhered to in the A.C.M.P.L. had to find something to do that involved time wasting thorough and through; something that would make the president of the A.C.M.P.L. proud; something that would put me back in the good books of the A.C.M.P.L.; then I saw him.
It was pretty amazing that I actually saw him. It’s not everyday that one gets to enjoy the sight of sheer elegance and patience so when it does happen all one can do is register interest and remain in awe. I watched him attempt to do a crossing of the veranda, which in my opinion to him seemed like the impossible task but then again only he could tell us. I decided to name him Pete. In the true spirit of the A.C.M.P.L. I began to wonder how a conversation with Pete would go.
“Good morning Pete” I would go and he would respond:
“I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-am we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-well”
“Crossing my veranda I see”, I would proceed to which he would respond:
“I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-am t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-tr-tr-tr-tr-tr-tryy--tryy--tryy--tryy--tryy-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ing…..trying to.”
You see, Pete is a chameleon and it’s pretty obvious that it takes quite a while for the great crossing to be complete and by the time this happens, the day has crossed mid-life and is on fast track to old age. Indeed it was a day for the record books. The A.C.M.P.L. shall be very pleased to learn of this but that too would involve work and that cannot be. Alas, its time to eat again and then sleep. Oh the life of a timewaster.
A discordant yet harmonious sing-song and incoherent beat wakes me up with a start. I do not dare look at the time for I know deep down in my bones it is yet too early to awaken. It has been like this for days on end; a discordant yet it persists; you would think the repeated threats would have taught them by now but alas. The United Voices Choir of Pigeons with inexplicable pecking on my windows is not the ideal way to begin a day but apparently it is to them. As has become our fair tradition, the pigeons and I, I find some object to hurl at the window and away they go; the games have just began.
I roll back into bed and face the wall in my struggle to return to sleep. This can never reach the ears of the president of the association of couch-potatoes, malingerers, posers and layabouts (A.C.M.P.L.). He should never know that a co-founder of this exclusive club was awake at the time of the birds. In time I disappear to a land of dreamless slumber in pursuit of the ideals that this exclusive club has tried to impart upon me.
When I finally awake, a little past the hour for any normal human to be asleep, the day is well into its development; having just run right by teenage and fast headed toward adulthood. Awake though far from alert, I stare at the ceiling and mind-numbingly count and recount the boards that make up my ceiling. I just might have to eventually leave my bed but in that light maybe I should stay a bit more; the census on my toes is yet to be completed for the umpteenth time.
Breakfast is a meal I have failed to indulge in for quite a while now. With rules set forth to live up to by the order it was hard not to. To the kitchen indeed to cook up a storm; yes this is the life of a malingerer. Eat, sleep, eat some more, sleep a little more then just be. Brunch once done, I was ready for all sorts of activities time wasting. As is stated in the creed of the ACMPL, I turned on the television and flipped through here and there. It was standard procedure, irrespective of all other activities time wasting.
It was time to switch off my brain; mental activity was against all that was adhered to in the A.C.M.P.L. had to find something to do that involved time wasting thorough and through; something that would make the president of the A.C.M.P.L. proud; something that would put me back in the good books of the A.C.M.P.L.; then I saw him.
It was pretty amazing that I actually saw him. It’s not everyday that one gets to enjoy the sight of sheer elegance and patience so when it does happen all one can do is register interest and remain in awe. I watched him attempt to do a crossing of the veranda, which in my opinion to him seemed like the impossible task but then again only he could tell us. I decided to name him Pete. In the true spirit of the A.C.M.P.L. I began to wonder how a conversation with Pete would go.
“Good morning Pete” I would go and he would respond:
“I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-am we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-we-well”
“Crossing my veranda I see”, I would proceed to which he would respond:
“I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-am t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-tr-tr-tr-tr-tr-tryy--tryy--tryy--tryy--tryy-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ing…..trying to.”
You see, Pete is a chameleon and it’s pretty obvious that it takes quite a while for the great crossing to be complete and by the time this happens, the day has crossed mid-life and is on fast track to old age. Indeed it was a day for the record books. The A.C.M.P.L. shall be very pleased to learn of this but that too would involve work and that cannot be. Alas, its time to eat again and then sleep. Oh the life of a timewaster.
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