Medication & contemplation
The phone rings. A voice bathing in enthusiasm on the other side of the line. Wondering what I’m doing, awaiting an anecdote characterised by mischief and adventure.
An endearing and understandable misconception. In all honesty: I’m actually not somewhere out in the Amazon, machete in one hand, decapitated anaconda in the other. And beaches are somewhere in this country, but nowhere nearby.
My days in this foreign land consist of structure, self chosen repetition, four walls, a comfortable chair, a notepad + pen, a gym and a stroll outside in pleasant temperatures.
The enjoyableness of it all is irrelevant. It’s the recipe necessary to prevail over one of my biggest fears in life: staying in the position that I am currently in. That would make me feel truly miserable.
So, off goes the alarm, drank gets the coffee, lifted are the weights, written are the words, cracking is the brain, ignored are the feelings, made is the progress.
I’m aware that it’s not beneficial to my health. Yet I am even more aware that handouts are not a part of (my) life. Too grand of a sinner to expect divine intervention, too experienced to pretend that all will randomly get better.
‘Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity’ said a friend the other day, and Seneca a while back. And I concur. Making an effort shall be the strategy.
As days pass, a drawer filled with artificial relief becomes more spacious. I prefer not to ingest all this medication, but even more I prefer not to be unproductive, poor and lonely. With contaminated veins the structure stays in place.
At nighttime I dress up and slick back the hair, making sure that health and appearance do not align. I head out for a walkabout to a nearby square/roundabout to organise thoughts and see what I’m actually on about.
There I sit, appreciating this marvelous phenomenon called fresh air. Envisioning and contemplating.
A man dressed in the colours of the Star-Spangled banner approaches. I establish his nationality from afar. Uncle Sam clean shaven. A man keen on having a conversation.
We shake hands.
I salute a stranger. Eight days later I waved goodbye a friend.
I return to the roundabout. A well known face draws near. Long dark hair, Argentina’s cushiest behind and a fascinating brain. A kiss on my cheek while she sits down next to me.
She knows my perpetual contemplations. She catches the brief moment of doubt in my eyes and smiles.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I know you’ll accomplish everything you said you will.”
The words I longed for.
I look up at the diamonds in the firmament. With one hand I caress hers, with the other I reach out to the stars. I am miles away from all of it, but I’m closing the distance.
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